On The Trail of Jacob Grimm
by llnbooks
Summary: Movie Prequel. Jacob Grimm has found a way to bring back the dead...for a price, and a supernatural visitor warns Will Grimm that his estranged brother is in mortal peril.
1. Chapter 1

AUTHOR'S NOTE: _I don't own the characters (Miramax does) or the fairy tales referenced in this story. I'm not making one single penny off this story. (pauses) I wouldn't mind borrowing the boys for awhile though…_

_I'm still burned out from writing my two big stories (now three) back to back, so this may not be my best creative effort. Honestly, I almost didn't post this. For one thing, there are some plot holes I never got patched, but I'm going to take a chance and go ahead. I want to emphasize a few points before you go in: 1) This is rated TEEN for a reason. There are some very adult themes and situations and angst in here and some violence. It deals with rather dark issues relating to familial rifts and deaths of family members (if you saw the movie, you know to what I'm referring). Can't handle, please don't read. 2) Although there are religious references in the story, nothing is based on any real people or cults. They were completely fabricated for plot purposes and if you see similarities to any real people or cults, you are squinting way too hard, if you know what I mean. Do _not _try anything you see in this story, boys and girls, because it's all made up stuff. So, if anyone flames for reasons of dark themes or religious references, I'm going to ignore it because I've given fair warning. 3) The opinions expressed by characters do not reflect the opinion of this writer._

_I never read other fictions for fandoms that I'm writing, so I haven't checked any of the other BG fictions posted yet. If there are any other stories like this out there, it's a coincidence. _

_We've already established in my previous fics that history is not my strong subject either. I based the locations on real places, but they are fictional. (Desdemond's "altar", for example, was based on places like Fingal's Cave and Devils Postpile. Even the tree growing out of the side of the cliff is based in reality. If you've driven Highway 1 in California heading north between Santa Cruz and San Francisco, you might even have seen the tree that inspired it. :-) Blame the Internet translators if my German is wrong. Sister, Mother, and Father Grimm don't have names. I know it's bad writing form, but I don't recall if Mom or Sis had names in the movie or not and Father Grimm wasn't in the movie and I'd rather put no names than wrong names._

It's slightly AU and I take a few liberties with the characters (exaggerating some of their personality traits mostly, but they do some stuff that some might consider OOC), but I'll try to bring it back in line with the movie by the end. No sex, slash, or incest, no Mary Sues/writer's alter egos. Finally, I tossed in references to fairy tales the same way they did in the movie. However, the fairy tales referenced herein were not all written by the Brothers Grimm, some were written by Hans Christian Anderson, Jeanne-Marie LePrince de Beaumont, and Carlo Collodi. Okay, here we go…

**The Brothers Grimm**

"On The Trail of Jacob Grimm" 

_by llnbooks (llnbooks)_

_It lacked the quality of a dream. Will felt the cold of the night through the nightshirt he wore. The damp winter fog penetrated the damped fabric and chilled his unprotected hands and face. His breath, coming in pants born of fear rather than exertion, mingled with the mist that hung in the air. The wet grass and dirt beneath his bare feet froze his skin until his toes felt like ice. _

_Death---not just in the dried grass and the trees devoid of leafs---was all around this place. It's presence permeated the air, filled his nostrils and mouth with its acrid stench so that he could barely keep from gagging on it. Its presence made the darkness around him all the more forbidding and terrifying. Will half-expected that the specter of Death lurked in the shadows of the trees that lined the trail on which he stood and might reach out with bony fingers to claim him as its prize. The fear of it kept him frozen in place, afraid to take a step, lest the faintest snap of a dry twig or crunch of withered grass beneath his foot betray his presence to whatever ghosts and demons dwelled here. He was sure they were present; this was their realm. _

_This was the land of the dead. He knew it with certainty. The ice in his veins, the feel of the hair on his neck standing on end, the gooseflesh on his arms, and the way each gust of wind carried disembodied voices told him so. It didn't occur to Will to wonder how he'd gotten here. Every fiber of his being was focused on finding his way out of this cursed, frightening place. _

_His eyes would not grow accustomed to the oppressive blackness surrounding him. In the faint light (was it moonlight? He could see no moon or stars above despite the fact that it was night), Will could not get his bearings. He saw only a path beneath his feet---frozen dirt and dead grass---and he didn't want to follow it. He dared not follow it, but his body betrayed him. His legs carried him onward of their own volition. The voices on the wind called to him, beckoned him, and drew him forward even as his mind and senses silently resisted their urgings. He feared being lost in the blackness, but, miraculously, with each step he took, the darkness retreated before him so he stayed consistently in the soft illumination. He was grateful, for the gentle light kept the lurking spirits at bay._

_The murmur of voices on the wind was growing stronger and more clear as he moved along the path. Soon, Will could begin to discern individual voices in that unearthly chorus of whispers. A feminine voice rose to the forefront. Unlike everything else in this realm, the female's voice was warm and the sound of it sent its warmth into his chilled body and blood. The caress of it settled the gooseflesh on his arms. Its company abated the chill of the mist and the night._

_It called his name in the sound of a welcome. Will._

_He turned his head, seeking the source of the gentle call. There, ahead of him on the trail, he spotted a pocket of brighter light that seemed to be moving among the trees. Its glow revealed more of the landscape of this netherworld. The trail curved along the base of a grassy hillside. The hillside gave way to a rather sinister looking mountain. Up that slope, rocks jutted from the earth like columns of blunted, broken teeth. Their pattern was too peculiar, too evenly and deliberately spaced to be naturally occurring. It gave the entire hillside the impression of being a giant, gaping jaw of some monster that would devour Will if he strayed from the trail. And still his body betrayed him as his feet stepped from the relative safety of the path onto this incline. He had no choice: That warm glow and that protective feminine voice that spurred him on, the presence that he knew had brought him to this realm, emanated from the center of those unnatural rocks. _

_The voice, the presence, was familiar to him somehow. Yet, the desire to find it warred with growing dread of why it had called him to this place and what it meant to show him among those stones._

_Will. The call was still a greeting, but also a summons._

_The glow nearly turned night into day as he threaded his way between the large boulders and over smaller stones. The razor-sharp rocks should have cut his bare feet to ribbons, but he passed over them without an instant of pain or a single nick to mar his skin. He moved past an old man sleeping beneath a tree, who didn't so much as stir at Will's passing. Will had no desire to reach out and touch the gaunt, withered figure. He passed a cliff. Halfway up, a woman with long locks of hair stood on a rock that protrude from the side of the cliff…long locks of green hair. That just wasn't right…_

_Will squinted against the glow as it intensified to become almost blinding. "Who's there?" he called into the light._

_Something moved within that glow…a shape human and yet not human. She was composed of mist, a shadow like all that around him. The form lacked the solidity of a body even though it radiated the warmth of a human touch as an arm reached from the light and brushed a finger along Will's jawline. He could see the grass and rocks through the translucent form. The arm emanated the same luminosity as the light around him. It was a small arm bearing a tiny, delicate, feminine hand. As Will looked on, equally petite legs and bare feet emerged from the light…_

…_walking on the air. Those small feet—the whole body---were floating on the air. Will's breath seized in his throat as he realized the figure was another ghost. _

_The rational part of his mind (and Wilhelm Grimm considered himself a very rational man indeed) rejected this discovery even as his every sense told him that this childlike figure was a specter risen from the grave. More disturbing, its voice---her voice---was alarmingly familiar._

_Not possible, he thought, blood turning to ice. Wide-eyed with renewed apprehension, Will's gaze traveled from those small feet, up the ethereal torso and arms, to the face of this apparition. Not possible, he thought again._

_The word would not come from his lips. He couldn't open his mouth to say it. He could only stare, stunned. He knew her face. It was burned into his memory even after all these years, indelible. _

_Sister?_

_She was unchanged in death, from the curve of cheeks still round with baby fat, to the round eyes filled with the same warmth as her touch, the smile missing one front tooth. The tooth was a casualty of childhood roughhousing with her brothers. It was debatable whether Sister or Mother had raised the greater ruckus over the loss. A bubble of laughter, still so familiar that the sound of it was an ache in his heart, escaped the spirit. She had always welcomed her family home from their wanderings with that smile and that laughter and those eyes bright with love and joy no matter what, no matter the misery owing to their poverty or her own fading health. On the gloomiest winter's day, that smile and laughter was their sunlight. He remembered that much._

_Will. Sister hadn't spoken his name; her smile never ceased even to form words. He heard her voice in his mind and on the wind._

"_You're not real. This is some sort of nightmare." Terrified, Will tried to look away. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the illumination was still visible behind his eyelids._

_Will, look. Sister's voice, gentle but insistent, commanded him._

"_I don't want to! Whatever you want, whatever it is, you're not real. I don't want to see…" Will resisted, squeezing his eyes more tightly closed to block the inviting glow from his sight and his mind…from his heart. He didn't want to see. Her presence, even in a dream, opened wounds and raw grief deep in his soul. He had never let himself remember her face, her smile, or her laugh. _

_She would not be defied, however. Her touch, like the sun on his skin, brushed once more over his chin, preventing him from turning away from her. As the warmth and light passed across his face, his eyes obediently snapped open._

_Her incorporeal hands grasped his own. You must see. Her words were kind but stern, not to be disobeyed, just the way Mother had spoken. Those ghostly hands pulled him further up the hillside, towards the center of the circle of rocks, and still her feet never touched the ground. Will didn't want to see where she was leading him, so he kept his gaze fixed on the ground. The stones under his feet were smooth, but cold as everything else in this dreary landscape save for Sister. He could discern carvings on the stones, but the markings—language though they seemed to be---were as so much gibberish to him. They looked like the scribblings of a madman. _

_You must save him, Will, Sister added._

_That got Will's attention. "Save who?"_

_He met those eyes—Sister's eyes---finally. He saw what he had not noticed in the first shock of finding her here: Her eyes were bright with love and wisdom, wisdom not of this world and far beyond the precious few years she'd lived. Wisdom and…sadness. He knew that sadness. He'd seen it in his own reflection for years after her death._

_Her death because of…_

_Then Will saw it, through the vaporous, translucent form of his Sister, saw what---who---she'd meant him to see. This figure was as real as Will, of living flesh and blood, and yet also part of this nightmare. This figure was also familiar, despite the years that had passed since Will last laid eyes on him. The years had changed him from the gawkish boy that he'd been when last they'd spoken. He didn't look at all as he'd been when they'd last spoken, but Will still would have known him anywhere. _

_His hair was shorter, so much that the blonde curls were gone as if they'd been shorn away because he couldn't be bothered wasting time on trivialities like grooming, and a growth of beard made him appear older than his years. His eyes, peering now from behind round glasses, were gazing not at Will but at the ground. His eyes were nearly the mirror image of Sister's._

_Nearly. The same kindness was there in those depths, the same sadness felt by Will was a constant presence in this man's gaze, the same intelligence as Sister's was in them—almost preternatural, as if he were attuned to some secret wisdom of the world that only he could see…no, 'intelligence' may not have been the right word, Will corrected himself. 'Naivety', that was a better one._

'_Madness' might be another. What other word would you use for one for whom fairy tales, myth, magic, and hokum had all the reality and plausibility which practical science and rationality held for every other reasonable soul on the planet? Who else but a madman, or a fool, at any age believed beans held magical powers, let alone magical powers over life and death? Who would believe it enough to wager his own sister's---their sister's---life on damned 'magic beans'?_

"_Jacob," Will growled under his breath._

_His brother didn't turn at the sound of his own name nor take notice of the presence of Will and the apparition. Jacob knelt on the ground, his undivided concentration on something obscured from Will's sight by the shadows of tall grass. In one outstretched hand, Jacob held a thick book open-faced. His gaze shifted between the unseen object beneath his knees and the book in his hand. He read aloud from that book, his voice barely a whisper, much like the voices carried on the wind. Like the inscriptions Will had seen on the rocks surrounding them, the words his brother recited were gibberish, their meaning known only to Jacob, further giving the younger man the appearance of being a madman._

_Stuck in myth and hokum as always. Still scribbling in that infernal journal. Jacob began writing in that book the night Sister had died. Will had cried. Mother had cried. Jacob had written in that book. That was his reaction to her death, that and nearly breaking Will's jaw when he'd tried to snatch the journal away to pitch it into the fireplace. Will felt the darkness around him seep into his own heart. His anger—always bubbling in his subconscious, always since the day Sister had died---darkened his thoughts…anger so long directed at his brother that Will could scarcely recall a time when the sight of his sibling didn't elicit the bleak emotion. His fault. His fault Sister died._

_Sister's warm touch grazed Will's jaw again. She had heard his thoughts as clearly as if he had spoken. Not his fault, Will._

_Will was astonished she could say such a thing. "Not his fault! If he'd fetched a doctor as he was told…a doctor…instead of magic beans!"_

_Her smile never faded. You have to forgive him, Will. Will had heard those same words from their Mother far too often. The urgency and concern in Sister's plea failed to move him, to dispel the rage in his heart. He didn't meet her otherworldly gaze. She didn't know what she was asking of him. He had tried before, so many times, but the bitterness would not be assuaged. _

_Sister's eyes were sympathetic. Whether the sympathy was for one brother or both, he didn't know. So much pain, for both of you. You've been angry too long, Will…time's almost gone._

_He shook his head. "I canno----wait, 'time's almost gone'? What are you talking about?"_

_Dream-Jacob, still oblivious to their presence, ceased his recital and set his ever-present journal carefully onto the ground. Sister moved so that she no longer stood between her brothers, affording Will and unobstructed view of Jacob's activities. She floated to stand at Jacob's shoulder, her radiance illuminating the large stone upon which he knelt. She beckoned Will to come closer, but he stood fast, surveying the area in the brighter light. _

_The stone had been carved into an altar of some sort. Inscriptions in the rock matched those on the large, jagged stone monoliths that formed a circle around the altar stone. A bundle, an object wrapped with sackcloth and bound with a red silk cord, lay on the stone beside Jacob's knees. With great care, Jacob picked up the bundle and began to unwrap it. Sister watched with an expression akin to despair lining her eternally childlike features. Her sad eyes met Will's confused stare._

_Time's almost gone, she repeated her warning._

_Now, for the first time, Will felt the fear in her words. "What does that mean?" he demanded of her. When she didn't answer, Will shouted at the unresponsive Dream-Jacob. "What are you doing!" Placidly, Jacob continued unwrapping his prize without so much as a blink in answer to Will's question._

_Sister answered for him: What he's always done…for me, Will._

"_Stop talking in riddles!" Will snapped at the ghost as his own anxiety deepened._

_The cloth fell away from the object in Dream-Jacob's hands. It resembled nothing so much as a wand from one of Jacob's damnable fabled wizards or witches. The shaft was some sort of metal, twelve inches long, and was carved with inscriptions and symbols matching those on the stone altar. Jacob's finger traced each marking, breathing the proper translation, before pausing over one snake-like shape. At the touch of his finger on that symbol, both the wand and the altar came suddenly to life. Fire poured skyward from each marking on the altar, encircling Jacob in a ring of flame. Beams of light poured from the matching shapes on the wand in his hand until Will was nearly blinded. This light was not the soft glow emanating from Sister; it was a harsh and painful glare. The stench of burning flesh filled the air._

_Will recoiled from the heat of the flames and squinted against the light. Jacob, however, still sat, unperturbed, at the center of the blazing altar. He paused only long enough to reach over and slide his book safely out of reach of the lapping flames. His entire being was focused on the wand-thing in his hand. Jacob brushed his finger over a triangular symbol, and the blunted ends of the wand spewed out a jagged knife blade. Remarkably, the blade seemed to be made of pure light._

_And, suddenly, Will comprehended Jacob's intentions…even before his brother poised the blade of fire just above his own heart._

"_Jake, no!" Instinct took control. Without a thought or hesitation, Will reacted. He lunged through the wall of flames in a dive for the knife-wand. His grasping hands passed right through Dream Jacob and Will felt himself falling…_

…until the impact with the very real and quite unyielding floor of a barn jolted Will from his nightmare into wakefulness. "Ouch!" Grunting in pain, Will rolled from lying on his stomach onto his back and pried open his eyes. He'd fallen from the barn's loft down a few feet to the dirt floor. He tasted blood from where he'd bitten his lip upon landing. With a shudder, he noticed that he'd missed landing on the upturned points of a pitchfork by mere inches.

Still half-asleep and disoriented in spite of his rude awakening, Will was surprised to find the bizarre netherworld of his nightmare was now gone. He was flat on his back on the floor of a barn, and he vaguely remembered stumbling into the barn and up the ladder to the loft with---

"Will?" The hay piled in the loft above rustled softly as something---no, some_one_---moved up there. In the moonlight that streamed through open shutters, Will saw a spill of long, dark curls and the ivory skin of a bare shoulder. _Who was that_? "Will, are you all right?" the woman called.

_Gretchen, that was her name._ Will blinked. _Or was it?_ He sincerely didn't know. Too much drink had made his memory fuzzy. He recalled only an endless series of drinks and songs and a few pretty feminine faces. _No, yes, definitely Gretchen. Maybe._ He had learned from past mistakes never to call a lady by her name unless he was entirely sure it was, in fact, her name. Better very safe than very sorry. "I'm fine," he answered. "Fortunately, the nice, hard ground broke my fall."

_Will…_

Was it really Sister's voice in the air or the memory of her voice? Images from his vivid nightmare---Sister, Jacob, symbols, a blade of fire---returned to him in a rush like the deluge of a tidal wave crashing down on him. Forgetting the ache in his protesting body, Will sat bolt upright.

"Will?" Maybe-Gretchen called from the loft.

_Save him Will_, Sister called in his mind. The gentle urging was punctuated by a soft gust of wind that rattled the shutters and the half-open door of the barn. The wind kicked up a soft cloud of dust and straw not unlike the mist in Will's dream. Stabled in the barn, Will's horse nickered uneasily at the sudden breeze.

"Will?" Maybe-Gretchen's voice was growing impatient.

"Yes? I mean, I'm fine…" Will answered distractedly. He attempted to put the dream images from his mind, but they wouldn't be quelled. Every time he blinked, he saw the glinting blade of fire.

"Come back here then," Maybe-Gretchen's sultry voice invited.

_Time's almost gone, Will,_ Sister's voice persisted.

"Yes, would you give me a minute to think!" Will barked at the nagging voice in his head.

Above him, his flesh and blood companion, thinking the words had been directed at her, became defensive. "If that's how you're going to speak to me, I'm going home!"

"I wasn't talking to you," Will answered without thinking.

"Who are you talking to then?" No doubt about it, Maybe-Gretchen was livid now. Her face appeared at the top of the ladder, trying to see for herself if Will was alone down there. _So much for romance._ "Are you alone down there? Have you got another woman down there?"

"Excellent question," he grumbled. Moving gingerly in favor of his still aching body, Will climbed to his feet.

Wilhelm Grimm wasn't like his brother---not in any sense of the word. Most particularly, he did not share Jacob Grimm's belief in the supernatural, in magic, fairy tales, clairvoyance, or any related nonsense. There was no phenomenon in this world that couldn't trace its origins to something scientific, natural or man-made. Purveyors of magic or magic charms (_or magic beans_) were nothing but charlatans out to bilk superstitious people…and if people were foolish enough to believe in such rot, they deserved to be separated from their hard earned money as far as Will was concerned. Dreams were the products of over-active imagination and desires. They were not prophetic and dead relatives did not use them to pay social calls.

But Will had never dreamed like that, never so vividly that the icy mist still chilled him and the stench from that fire still lingered in his nose and lungs. He never dreamed of Sister, either, not once since she had died so many years ago. He didn't let himself dream about her.

The dream had seemed so real, though.

_Yes, Will, that's quite plausible,_ he chided himself for that instant of doubt. _Your dead sister paid a visit in your dream to warn you that your brother is planning some sort of bizarre self-sacrifice. That sort of thing happens all the time._ Even if Will believed in spectral visitations, even Jacob wasn't foolish enough to do---

_Well, this _is _Jacob we're talking about…._

No, it was ridiculous. It was a bad dream and nothing more. Dismissing it, Will resolved to go make peace with his ruffled lady-friend, who was searching in mounting fury for whomever preoccupied Will.

He didn't take one step before a stronger gust of wind slammed the barn door open as far as it would reach. The temperature dropped so suddenly that the air became as ice. Even Every creature in the barn reacted---horses reared up in their stalls, chickens woke and scattered with squawks of alarm, a pig in the corner tried to burrow into the wooden wall to escape, and Maybe-Gretchen let out a cry of surprise. Straw and dirt blew into Will's eyes, and his raised his arms to protect his face. His saddlebag, perched on the door to his horse's stall, was blown to the ground. Its contents, the whole of Will's worldly possessions, spilled across the barn's floor. Distantly, as the wind shrieked, Will wondered if Maybe-Gretchen could hear the voices whispering in the howl of the gust.

He called into the gale, "All right, then! I can take a hint!"

The wind ceased almost at once. When he was certain it was done, Will wiped dirt and grit from his eyes. Frowning, he hurried to gather up his scattered belongings. Maybe-Gretchen watched silently, then gaped as he swiftly began saddling his nervous horse. "Where are you going?" she asked, indignant at the idea of being abandoned.

"To find my brother."


	2. Chapter 2

AUTHOR'S NOTE: _I don't own the characters (Miramax does) or the fairy tales referenced in this story. I'm not making one single penny off this story. (pauses) I wouldn't mind borrowing the boys for awhile though…_

_1) This is rated TEEN for a reason. There are some very adult themes and situations and angst in here and some violence. It deals with rather dark issues relating to familial rifts and deaths of family members (if you saw the movie, you know to what I'm referring). Can't handle, please don't read. 2) Although there are religious references in the story, nothing is based on any real people or cults. They were completely fabricated for plot purposes and if you see similarities to any real people or cults, you are squinting way too hard, if you know what I mean. Do _not _try anything you see in this story, boys and girls, because it's all made up stuff. So, if anyone flames for reasons of dark themes or religious references, I'm going to ignore it because I've given fair warning. 3) The opinions expressed by characters do not reflect the opinion of this writer._ _See Chapter One for the rest of the notes._

**2**

The doubts plagued Will each league of his journey. It had been a long ride since he'd left the barn, which left far too much time for his idle thoughts to wander in directions best unexplored. More than once in the two days of travel, Will had reined his horse to a stop as the doubts temporarily got the better of him: Doubt at the logic of this fool's errand, doubt that there was one good reason to hasten off at the behest of a dream that was probably nothing more than a consequence of too much ale or bad beef anyway. Several times, he turned back completely, intent on abandoning his journey entirely. He would never turn back for more than a few minutes before, cursing himself for a fool, he did another about-face and continued onward to his destination.

_Ludicrous. Ridiculous._

Thoughts not contemplating the merit of his venture centered around what might be waiting at the end of his ride. The potential humiliation of admitting that pragmatic Wilhelm Grimm had charged off in search of an estranged sibling because of a bad dream paled in comparison to uncertainty of what reaction he'd receive when he finally did track down the wayward Jacob Grimm. Will had no idea what to expect when he and his brother were face-to-face---not from Jacob, and not from himself.

How many years had it been since Will had last seen his brother? It was difficult to recall---even when they were boys living under the same roof, after Sister's death, he and Jacob were virtually strangers. They had occupied two different worlds. Will's was anger; Jacob's was make believe. Will had avoided his brother as much as possible. After Mother had sent Jacob away to school, Will almost never saw his brother…

_Did Jacob even know that Mother had died_? _Or was he traipsing around the hills of Germany with his nose still pressed in that book of his naively chasing magic and twaddle?_ Will wondered sullenly.

His mind was straying too near dire subjects; Will cleared those thoughts from his head and distracted himself with the scenery. Hollenstadt had been the city listed on Jacob's last letter to their Mother, a letter which found its way into Will's possession instead: It had arrived one week after Mother's passing, delivered with meek apologizes by none other than the village's priest.

"_This arrived on one of the boats this morning. Under the circumstances, I thought you might want it," the priest had explained upon presenting it to Will._

"_I most certainly do not," Will had curtly refused the envelope._

_The priest had looked scandalized. "He _is_ your brother, Wilhelm."_

"_Painfully true, Father, but the envelope was not meant for me, and I have no interest in anything he has to say. My answer remains 'no'. Return it to Jacob if you wish." Will had attempted to close the door on the priest, but the man had pressed the letter into the younger man's hands._

"_Forgiveness is Divine, my son," the priest said firmly, "but if it's your intention to carry on pretending your brother doesn't exist, the return the letter yourself. Good day, Wilhelm."_

Somehow, Will had never got around to sending the letter back, neither could he bring himself to discard or burn it in spite of the desire to do so. He'd shoved it into his saddlebag before departing for the last time from the village that his family had briefly called home. Will had subsequently forgotten about the note and put thoughts about Jacob from his mind. He had not looked upon the envelope again until the dream…nightmare…and even now, its wax seal remained unbroken. Will had needed only Jacob's location---an address, and nothing more---and his brother at least had the courtesy to provide that on the outside of the envelope, sparing Will the necessity of examining the letter's contents.

The path curved and gradually wound its way into rolling hillsides. Will felt more uneasy the farther he went, unsettled by the familiarity of the low clouds that hung like fog on the hillsides and the damp winter air caused images from his nightmare to surface unbidden. The eerie feeling that he was riding into that dream realm formed a knot in his stomach. Every snap of twigs beneath his horse's hooves or unanticipated echo of an animal's cry on the wind made him jump until Will finally grew annoyed with himself for his own skittishness.

_Nothing but a coincidence, Will. You do not believe in precognition._ He clung to those words like a mantra to ward off the specters from that nightmare…as if they might appear along this trail at any moment to attack him. _And you do not believe in ghosts._

Nevertheless, he urged the horse to pick up its pace. The sooner he reached Hollenstadt and satisfied himself that Jacob was in no mortal peril, the sooner he could put nightmares out of his mind and return to his normal, rational world.

The city of Hollenstadt dated back to the days of Christ...although it was rumored to have existed a good four hundred years earlier than that (rumors which were dismissed as fables and legends devised by ancient settlers in the land). In the times when Rome had its heyday, Hollenstadt had been an opulent city often visited by Roman travelers, but had reverted into a farming community over the centuries, with little traces of opulence to be found. The tiny village lay in the hills at the confluence of the Moselle, Saar, and Ruwer rivers. The houses and the church were built around one central square, which was highlighted by a fountain with a statue of St. Peter and the farmers' market, which was the hub of trade in the village.

Will rode into the village shortly after midday. By then, the marketplace was crowded with peddlers pawning their wares, villagers going about their daily routines, and a few stray vagrants beseeching alms. The arrival of the rider in black earned no more than a few curious stares, but only the beggars showed active interest in the newcomer. The indifference of the busy crowd meant that Will's efforts to ask after Jacob or to acquire directions to the address on the envelope fell mostly on deaf ears. Finally, for the price of one coin, he was able to buy the information he required from a boy who was busily herding uncooperative goats through the marketplace. The boy had not seen nor heard of any 'Jacob Grimm', but he pointed Will in the direction of the address on the letter.

Will had expected Jacob's address to lead to a boarding house of some sort, or perhaps a room above the local tavern. It was no small surprise when Will found himself standing before a church instead. His first reaction was to think the goat herder had mislead him or misunderstood Will's inquiry. _I should go and retrieve my money,_ he mused. Still, perhaps someone within the church could provide better directions. He climbed the flight of stairs up to the ornate building and stepped inside.

The sole occupant of the church was the gray-haired priest, a fellow of extremely advanced years from the looks of him. The elderly man was at the task of shimmying up a small ladder to refill the oil lanterns mounted along the walls of the church. Will cleared his throat to gain the priest's attention. When the man glanced his way, Will added: "Begging your pardon, Father."

The elderly man beamed an enthusiastic smile (missing several teeth) in greeting. "No, no, come in, my boy, come in." He awkwardly climbed down the small ladder, balancing the oilcan in one hand and clinging to the ladder with the other. Will moved to steady it until the priest was safely standing on solid ground. The aged man could barely walk; Will wondered why there was no one helping with his task. "I'm Father Traugott. You're new here, yes?" the priest asked cheerfully, shaking Will's hand.

"Will Grimm." From the priest's lack of reaction, Will deduced that the name meant nothing to him. That was discouraging. "I've only just arrived. I won't be here long," Will confirmed.

Father Traugott moved his ladder to the next lantern. When he tried to place his foot on the bottom rung and missed, Will---politely as possible---relieved the elderly man of the oilcan. "Please, allow me?" He might not believe in specters and fairy tales, but he was still a religious man. He would have enough to answer for on the Judgment Day without having to explain how he'd let a priest crack his head open tumbling off a two foot ladder…in a church no less.

The priest gratefully accepted the help. With great relief, he sank down onto a convenient pew for a rest. "Most kind. Bless you, son." Father Traugott studied Will with keen eyes that showed age had not dulled his intelligence one bit. Will had the peculiar feeling that the man could see into his very soul and read his thoughts. "And what is it I can do for you Will Grimm?"

"I'm looking for a man…" Will managed to hook an arm around the ladder and hold the oilcan in one hand while drawing out the letter from his coat pocket with his other hand to pass the paper to Father Traugott. "…my brother, in fact. His name is Jacob. Jacob Grimm. You can see that he used your church for the address he sent ho---to our Mother."

The priest studied the paper, his puzzlement obvious. "I'm rather good with names, son, but I don't recall a Jacob Grimm. A distinct name, isn't it? I'm sure I'd remember it."

"Blonde hair, like mine only curly and down to his ears? My height, around my age. Clean-shaven? Brown eyes? Probably wearing a black overcoat?" Will described his brother. Father Traugott still appeared bewildered.

"I don't recall seeing a man like that." The priest chuckled. "I spoke incorrectly---I should say, I recall seeing _many_ young men who match that description. Of course, most of our town's visitors frequent the marketplace instead of my church, sad to say. You might ask there."

Will tried to mask his disappointment from the amiable older man. "I'm afraid I didn't have much luck there either." Then, Will had an inspiration. "Jacob might have been carrying a very thick book…I'm sure he'd have been quite possessive of it."

The priest's eyes lit up suddenly. His countenance became cheerful, but only briefly, and then his expression melted into dismay. "I do recall a fellow passing through here six weeks ago. But, not as you described him---this boy had very short blonde hair and a beard, glasses, a black overcoat, yes, and a book. The book was bound with a silk cord with a peculiar pendant…the pendant matches the seal on this letter if my memory serves…and he was possessive of the book indeed."

That description matched the image of Jacob as he'd been in Will's nightmare. Will blanched a bit. _That means nothing,_ he told himself

Father Traugott regarded Will as if debating how best to impart very bad news. "This young man was making inquiries about a rather---unsettling---subject. Some would say a blasphemous subject. He caused no small amount of agitation among most of the God-fearing folks in this town. There were some who thought he was---with apologies, son---a, well, a madman."

"Yes, that would be Jake." Will took no offense, having often believed the same thing. "What 'subject'?"

Dismay blossomed into full scorn on the priest's face. Forgetting his own aching body and fragility, the elder man stood up and reclaimed his oilcan from Will. "Subjects best forgotten…and never to be spoken of in a house of the Lord. I wouldn't speak of it with your brother, and I will not speak of it now." The priest's tone brooked no argument. "I'd counsel you not to follow your brother into folly by pressing the matter."

Those words and the priest's suddenly grave demeanor were making Will nervous. _Oh God, he's going to tell me they burned Jacob as a heretic…_ "They wouldn't have done something to my brother?" he asked, careful to keep his tone even.

"We are not barbarians, Mr. Grimm," the priest defended his flock. "But I admit there were those who considered it. I convinced those of bad intentions that they'd simply misunderstood the nature of your brother's inquiries. And I advised your brother that it might be in his best interest to make his visit to our good town as short as possible. I'm glad to say he had the wit to heed my advice."

Will felt a burst of gratitude to the older man for that. "Well, thank you for your wise counsel, Father. I apologize for any---commotion---my brother caused."

Father Traugott's scowl softened, and little by little his kind smile returned. "Are you your brother's keeper, then?"

_You have no idea._ "It would appear that someone needs to take on the task," Will mumbled, not relishing the notion.

"You're angry with him?" the priest observed.

_Insightful indeed_, Will confirmed his first impression of the man. "Let's suffice that I'm very used to him blundering into subjects that he shouldn't. You wouldn't know where he went after your…advice?"

The priest shrugged apologetically. "No, son, I'm sorry. I don't know why he would direct your Mother to my humble house of worship."

Will nearly laughed at that. "If he riled your good townsfolk as much as you said, I've no doubt he believed you'd be the last person to see him and the church would be the place to find him…one way or the other." That knowledge did nothing to make Will feel better. No, quite the opposite: After Father Traugott's story about Jacob treading into forbidden subjects and nearly incurring the wrath of the villagers, the exchange with the priest had only intensified Will's concern. Before heading to the door, he added, "Thank you again for your help, Father."

Traugott nodded once, then returned to his lanterns and ladder. Will left the man to his work. He paused once outside, surveying the village without a thought on where to look next.

_What foolishness are you chasing now, Jake?_

Traugott watched as the boy skulked, disappointed, from the church. When Will stepped out into the daylight, leaving the aged man alone, Traugott's kindly smile disappeared. Abandoning his lanterns, he removed the clerical collar from around his neck and strode across the deserted church and into the back room. The room contained shelves of books, a large desk, and a bird cage which housed a messenger pigeon that stared at Traugott while the man sat down at the desk, picked up a quill, and began writing a message on a small slip of paper. When the ink had dried, Traugott rolled up the note and fastened it to the bird's legs.

He carried the messenger bird to a window at the back of the church, where it was in no danger of being seen by the villagers, and released it into the sky.

He'd done all he could do. There was nothing he could do now except continue his masquerade and keep an eye on Wilhelm Grimm until he received a reply to his message. With luck, by the time the bird returned, the elder Grimm would find his young brother and spare Traugott the need for this charade. He didn't particularly enjoy impersonating a priest…but for the good of all mankind, he would do so as long as necessary.


	3. Chapter 3

AUTHOR'S NOTE: _I don't own the characters (Miramax does) or the fairy tales referenced in this story. I'm not making one single penny off this story. (pauses) I wouldn't mind borrowing the boys for awhile though…_

_1) This is rated TEEN for a reason. There are some very adult themes and situations and angst in here and some violence. It deals with rather dark issues relating to familial rifts and deaths of family members (if you saw the movie, you know to what I'm referring). Can't handle, please don't read. 2) Although there are religious references in the story, nothing is based on any real people or cults. They were completely fabricated for plot purposes and if you see similarities to any real people or cults, you are squinting way too hard, if you know what I mean. Do _not _try anything you see in this story, boys and girls, because it's all made up stuff. So, if anyone flames for reasons of dark themes or religious references, I'm going to ignore it because I've given fair warning. 3) The opinions expressed by characters do not reflect the opinion of this writer._ _See Chapter One for the rest of the notes._

**3**

So it was that Will Grimm left the church in a decidedly darker spirit than he'd arrived. His mood was not improved when he noticed, as he walked down the church steps and made his way back to his horse, that he was drawing stares—no longer apathetic, but of undisguised suspicion---from the villagers and passerbys. The goat herder boy whom he had paid for directions stood among a small knot of people, chattering and gesturing in the general direction of Will. He'd made the mistake of introducing himself to the boy when he'd given him that coin. It would seem the boy had shared Will's identity, and word had spread with impressive speed.

_Guilt by relation to the 'madman'_. It was a familiar feeling, and for a moment Will felt again like a little boy, back in his hometown, drawing looks---sometimes pitying, sometimes scornful, sometimes compassionate, sometimes outright derisive---as if his brother's eccentricities were somehow a trait of the blood shared by his older sibling. Years had passed after Sister's death, but Will was never able to walk down the street without catching the words 'magic beans' or 'the brother's not quite right' whispered in his wake by the townsfolk.

The silence that greeted them whenever Mother forced Will to escort his younger brother on an errand was worse. It was like a living presence, that silence, so overpowering that Will heard his own blood coursing in his ears and felt the heat of it burn his face. He would automatically, if unintentionally, find himself walking a few steps ahead of his sibling, never uttering a word in the younger boy's defense, as if the distance were a wall shielding him from sharing in the stares focused on Jacob.

Even now, as a grown man far from any living soul who knew of the terrible tragedy caused by his brother's naivety, Will was _still_ at the center of scorn created by Jacob's blunders.

Pointedly ignoring the villagers' gawking, Will hurried to make his way back to his horse. He saw no point in making further inquiries among the villagers about Jacob. Would they tell him which way Jacob had gone even if they knew? Doubtful. Will's only decision now was whether to seek a room for the night or to head out now and hope to reach a more receptive village before sunset…

"_Will, wake up!" Mother's voice had not roused ten-year-old Will from his slumber, for the boy had been feigning sleep. He'd dove back into his blankets as soon as he'd heard her light step approaching the bedroom so she wouldn't know he'd been listening at the door. "Wake up, Will. Gather your things---quickly. Only what you need," Mother had ordered as she shook his shoulder. "Come on, and help your brother as well."_

_Her tone alarmed Will. Wrapped in blankets on his side of the room they shared, Jacob was also awake and watched with wide eyes as their Mother moved to the window. She stared out into the night as if expecting something or someone._

"_What's going on?" Will had asked her. In truth, the boy had a fair idea already. He'd been awakened a short time earlier by the sound of raised voices in the other room of their two-room home. Mother had pulled the door to their bedroom closed. She never did that. She slept in the living area, and she left the door open at night so the heat from the fireplace would keep her children war---and also, to hear if they called her, lest one of her sons grew ill like Sister had and needed her during the night._

_The sound of the door shutting had brought both Will and Jacob immediately awake. Jacob had opened his mouth to say something, but Will gestured for him to keep quiet. Will had padded, silent as a mouse, to the keyhole and tried to peer through that small opening to see who was talking in such curt tones to their Mother…and at this late hour. He recognized a few faces---the seamstress who mended clothing for the villagers, a peddler who sold fruits in the marketplace, and the town's doctor. What was he doing there? Will wondered. Mother hated the man._

_It was the doctor who had Mother's full attention. Mother had her arms crossed, defiant though she looked like a cornered animal. Her stance was the mirror of Jacob's whenever he was confronted by a disapproving adult or by his angry older brother. On occasion, Mother even brushed at her ear the way Jacob did when he was nervous._

"_You lost your own daughter," the doctor was saying. "The boy spent the last of your money on magic beans instead of coming to me!"_

_Mother shook her head, denying the accusation. "No. I've told you all---over and over---Jacob was robbed of our money before he could summon you. Blame yourself for not coming to the aid of a sick child when there was no money in it for you if you must blame someone. There were no 'magic beans'."_

"_The boy told me about the magic beans with his own mouth!" the peddler contradicted her. "Said he bought them with the money he got for your cow!"_

'_Jacob', Will grimaced._

_Mother turned the weight of her glare against the peddler. "As you only just reminded me, Jacob is only a boy…and is quite fond of making up stories besides that."_

"_Precisely," the doctor jumped in. "Have you seen what he writes in that book of his?"_

_Mother frowned, her displeasure mounting. "Have you?"_

"_My boy, Hollis, has," the seamstress informed Mother. "Said it was full of all kinds of evil stories 'bout witchcraft and magic. What's a boy Jacob's age doing writing blasphemous things like that? Got a demon in him that one! I have a mind to call the priest, but the doctor wouldn't let me."_

_If this news had shocked their Mother, she didn't show it. "Your son was the one who tried to steal my son's book?" Mother raised an eyebrow. "Well, now I know who to thank for Jacob's bloody nose and missing teeth, don't I?"_

_Will cringed. He had seen Hollis when he'd taken Jacob's book, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to intervene, thinking Jacob needed to learn how people were going to react if he insisted on...well, on being weird. It hadn't been a fair fight—Hollis was five years older and at least twelve inches taller than Jacob. Hollis, seeing what was in the book while effortlessly keeping it out of reach of its owner, had given the book to the nearest adult…the peddler who stood in their home now. _

"_What are they saying?" Jacob asked in a whisper._

_Will hissed a shushing noise at him. "You've got us in trouble again, Jake, that's what they're saying! Now, be quiet so I can hear!" Jacob flinched as if Will had struck him, but he obediently asked no more questions._

_Sure enough, the peddler was piping up: "The boy's not right here---" He pointed to his own temple. Then he rolled up his pant leg to display a large bruise on his shin. "Look what he did when I tried to take away that evil book!"_

"_His stories aren't evil. They're fairy tales. He's very creative for his age," Mother defended her son._

"_We've all tried to help because you've been raising these boys alone. Children make mistakes, of course they do," the doctor said gently, trying to be delicate, "but…it's been three years since your daughter's death and Jacob isn't any better. The more time that passes, the more he sinks into his own world. You must see it, too. This new fascination with…demonic subjects…I think the boy's gone beyond your ability to handle."_

_Mother's ears went blood red. She uncrossed her arms, but her hands were balled in tight fists. "Respectfully, sir, I can tend to my own house."_

"_He thinks those stories are real!" The doctor's tone wasn't so gentle anymore._

"_He was playing at the cemetery, I saw him," the seamstress said._

_"Taking flowers to his sister's grave. Is that offensive to you as well?" Mother reprimanded the woman._

_The peddler would not be ignored. "I caught him at the river---he was talking to a fish! Said its name was 'Ariel'!"_

_The doctor had gotten his temper back under control and tried again, "We strongly advise that you burn that book…"_

_"Before he brings a curse down on all of us," the seamstress agreed._

_"Please, Gard, do not give voice to such things," the doctor chastened the seamstress before addressing Mother again. "Burn the book. After that…it might be best if you considered---well, there are people who could help young Jacob."_

_If he was expecting resistance from Mother, he wasn't disappointed. Mother's face went from bright red to ashen in the blink of an eye. "No one is taking my son away," her voice trembled._

_In the tiny bedroom, Will grumbled an oath that would have earned a mouthful of soap if his mother had heard._

_"You need to consider what's best for Jacob…and for Will," the doctor tried again._

_"Get out of my home," Mother's anger was back, full force. She pointed to the door, all pretenses of courtesy abandoned. Will noticed that she had maneuvered herself so that she was standing between the group and the room where her sons were supposed to be sleeping. _

_"This affects all of us. We don't want to bring down the wrath of the Lord on us for not doing the right thing," the seamstress argued all the way to the door. "You've had years to teach that boy what's right and what's not, but you haven't. We had to handle it ourselves."_

_Mother's tone was barely a whisper when she asked. "You did…what did you do?"_

_'Gard' jutted out her chin. "Told the proper people, that's what I did! It was the right thing to do."_

_Will didn't know what that meant, but it was apparent that Mother did. "You what! How could you!" she screamed at the woman. Gard retreated a step at the cry, and even the peddler dove for protection behind the doctor. Mother bodily shoved the woman out the door. Will had never seen such fury from Mother._

_"I wasn't aware what she'd done until she came to me this evening," the doctor apologized. "But perhaps it was best…it spares you the pain of having to…"_

_Mother wouldn't raise her hand against a healer, but she gestured for him to follow the seamstress out the door. "My son is not your responsibility! None of you!" Mother snapped at them. "Leave us alone!" With that, she slammed the door in their faces and slid the heavy bolt into place to lock it. Only then did she slump against the door, her shoulders shaking, her hands trembling. She didn't move from the spot for a very long time. When she finally stepped away from the door, Will saw the stain of tears on her face._

_Mother's gaze fell on the door to the boys' room. Her trembled ceased. She wiped her eyes dry. Resolutely, she began stuffing her few possessions into a bag. When she'd finished, she doused the fire in the hearth. Then she'd started walking towards the bedroom door._

_Will scrambled back into the blankets, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping. He gestured wildly for Jacob to lay back down in his own corner of the room. Understanding, his younger brother dove beneath his own covers and squeezed his own eyes shut just as she'd opened the door._

_The boys' meager belongings were collected in a hurry, piled into one small bag, which Mother handed to Will. Then, they were bundled into their coats. "Where are we going?" Will asked._

_"Away from here," Mother answered. _

_She checked to be certain they'd forgotten nothing important in their hurried packing. The only item left in the room was Jacob's book. Seeing Mother staring at it, Jacob fidgeted a bit, not knowing what she intended to do with it, and fought the instinct to snatch it up protectively. He waited, as did Will, as Mother retrieved the journal. She pressed the large book into Jacob's hands, and he let out the breath he'd been holding. _

"_I'm sorry," Jacob apologized. He wasn't sure what kind of trouble they were in that was making Mother want to run away, but he knew it was his fault. Will had said so._

_Mother brushed his cheek with one hand, her way of saying all was forgiven. "I know, love."_

_Maybe she wasn't angry at the trouble his brother had caused, but Will was. "I don't want to go. When are we coming back?"_

"_I don't know, Will!" Mother had spoken more harshly than she'd meant to, and she also brushed his cheek, this time in a gesture of apology._

_She was interrupted by the pounding of hooves and the squeak of wheels from the street. Mother hurried back into the darkened larger room and peeked out the window. Again, her face went pale._

"_Who is it?" Will asked._

"_It's no one." She was lying, he could tell. "Time to leave, boys. Out the window if you would. Quickly." Mother had ushered the two boys out the window of their room, which opened onto the alley behind their house. She handed their bags through the window and then followed them out. Once in the alley, she'd taken them by the hands and guided them swiftly and silently through the back streets and into the night. Will had glanced over his shoulder as they left. In the moonlight, he saw the silhouette of a carriage in front of their house and the shadows of unfamiliar men. His last memory of that house was hearing pounding that sounded like it came from their front door._

Caught up in his reverie, Will didn't notice that the path to his horse was blocked until he'd bodily collided with one of the villagers. He was twice startled---first by the unexpected collision, then again when he found himself nose-to-nose with the withered, leathery face of a beggar woman. Rather, he _guessed_ it was a woman by the fact that she seemed to have no Adam's apple and might have had bosoms beneath the baggy rags she wore (her clothes might have been a blue dress at some point, but they were too faded to tell now). The beard on her chin, however, made it impossible to be certain. It was a reddish color, that beard, and her curly hair might have been red at one time, before it had been caked with dirt. Her entire body was covered in the stuff upon second glance. He held his breath against the odor of unwashed skin and clothing.

She stuck a bony hand towards Will's face before he'd had a moment to recover from the startle of running into her and grinned. He almost didn't hear her ask, "Alms?" He was busy marveling that her rotting teeth were pointed and sharp as a cat's. A cat, yes, that's what the beggar woman resembled---a _dirty_ cat. He wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"Alms? For scaring the life out of me?" Will declined. "Thank you, no." He pushed past her, trying again to reach his horse, preferably without further harassment.

Behind him, the woman clucked her tongue at him. "Not much like your brother, are you Wilhelm Grimm?"

"Again, thank you." Will did not look back at the woman…not until it dawned on him that she'd called him by his full name. He'd only introduced himself to the boy and Father Traugott as 'Will', not 'Wilhelm'.

"Good boy, that one," she continued. Her voice also brought to mind cats…specifically, the hissing noises the creatures made. "Kind boy. Always said you should never pass by a beggar---you never know when it might be one of the good Lord's angels in disguise come to test your charity. Brought me a shiny new coin every morning when he was here. Promised me a kiss, too, but I guess he forgot before he left."

"Trying to save the damsel in distress. Yes, that would be Jake," Will said dryly. _Even if it was clearly a lost cause…as it would seem to have been in this vagrant woman's case. _ "Tell me, how did you know my name, ma'am?"

She grinned. "Name's Lorelei."

'_Lorelei'_, which meant '_alluring'_. At least she had a sense of humor. Will shook his head.

"I told you, I talked to your brother every morning for months. He never wanted nothing for those shiny coins except to bend my ear with those stories of his. I'd have been glad to give him more than my ear for those pretty coins, if you know what I mean," Lorelei grinned cheekily.

The mental image her suggestion created was enough to cause Will an entirely new set of nightmares. He had to swallow rising bile at the very notion. "I'm sure that I don't," he answered. It was a good attempt at a con, he'd grant her that much. "A grand story, indeed, 'Lorelei', very charming. Unfortunately, you failed to notice that I've just been speaking to Father Traugott, and he's already told me that Jacob was only here for a day or two. That would make it impossible for my brother to bring you coins of any kind for weeks, as you claim he did." Will swung up onto his horse and turned his thoughts back to wondering whether to seek a room for the night in this unfriendly village.

The beggar crossed her arms and if hugging herself and still grinned as if she were smarter than the young man. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "I know all sorts of things polite folks like the priest don't know," Lorelei insisted. "He was here five weeks. They was all after your brother like he was possessed or something. I knew he wasn't crazy or wicked. He was just like me---knew all sorts of things polite folks didn't oughta know. Good boy, he was. He didn't talk to those cowards…" She gestured to the villagers, who were pretending not to be watching Will and the vagrant as they went about their errands. Lorelei stamped a foot in the direction of some who were less subtle about staring and they hurried on their way. "…but he talked to _me_. Old ghosts don't scare me away like they scare the rest of these cowards. Mr. Jacob called me a princess. No one ever talks to me; they just throw coins so they don't have to look at me."

Will sighed, extremely skeptical at the woman's claims. "And how is it possible that he was here five weeks without anyone else seeing him? Did he sleep in a cave and go without food?" He gathered up the reins, prepared to leave the 'princess' and her lies to the next poor soul who came along.

Lorelei sensed that, and stepped forward to take a grip on the horse's bridle. "I didn't say no one else saw him, did I?"

"So you didn't. Good day, princess." Will tried to escape.

Not relinquishing her hold on the bridle, the beggar reached into her pocket with her free hand. "Jacob gave me this last time I saw him. To thank me for my help. I tried to sell it, but it's not worth nothing being broken like it is." With a flourish, she held up Jacob's watch…the watch he'd inherited from their father when Jacob was only a toddler. Will knew it was Father's because it was etched with the same seal the Grimms used on their letters, the family seal.

He tried to reach down and grab the watch, but Lorelei gracefully stepped out of his reach. Will considered climbing off his horse and ripping it out of her hands. "The only thing that proves is that you're a pickpocket."

Insulted, Lorelei spun on her heel and marched away. Against his better judgment, Will dismounted and chased after the beggar. "Wait a minute!"

The vagrant woman halted, grinning smugly as Will hurried to catch up with her. He didn't know whether to believe a word she said, but something in his gut told him there was at least a kernel of truth to her story. Reluctantly, he pulled three coins from his pocket. He offered her the first one. "For the watch," he explained as he pressed the coin into her filthy hand.

She accepted with the faintest nod and surrendered the watch. Will tucked it safely into his coat. He held the second coin, just out of her reach. "To tell me about the 'old ghosts' everyone is so frightened of."

The beggar woman eyed the second coin greedily. "Don't know much about them. They was here a long time ago, that's what I know. Did lots of---unnatural---rituals up in those hills. The priests burned all the scrolls what had anything to do with them. Mostly, parents just say their ghosts still roam around those hills to scare bad children. Mr. Jacob thought the ghosts were real enough. He said he was going to dig them up, too."

_That explains why he made so many friends here,_ Will filled in the blanks. Lorelei waited, and he handed over the second coin. With even more hesitation---_I'll be begging alms myself before I find Jacob for what this chase is costing_, he mused---Will held up the third coin. "To point out whoever is pretending not to have seen Jacob."

Lorelei's face brightened with a grin that was impish. She wrapped her fingers around his hand and pushed it away, refusing the proffered money. "_That_ I'll do for fun," she said with a wink.

A scant ten minutes elapsed before Will not only grew convinced of the beggar woman's purported friendship with Jacob but also began to understand his brother's charity toward the woman. The 'invisibility' bestowed on her by the populace's ignoring her allowed Lorelei to watch their comings and goings as she pleased without being noticed. Her memory of every villager's name and every place they'd set foot was accurate to the point of near perfection. Will guessed it would have caused no small amount of consternation to those going about unsavory business such as adultery and thieving if they had known their every move had not escaped her attention. Had they been aware of this, she'd probably be in peril for her life…

…_Just like his brother had been when he'd sparked their anger_.

She led Will through the alleys, circumventing most of the crowds in the marketplace, pausing only now and then to point out certain locations or persons. They crouched behind a small stone wall, from which part of the marketplace and the road leading out of the village were visible. "That sour-looking fellow there…" Lorelei gestured to a man selling poultry and vegetables near the edge of the market. "…gets here before all the rest of them. I've seen him and Mr. Jacob talking when they thought no one else was around. Sold Mr. Jacob a bag of food every Sunday morning while the rest of the folks was in church. Charged him three times what he should for it, too."

_Did he?_ Will narrowed his eyes. He'd have to make a point of discussing the matter of cheating his brother with that peddler.

"Mr. Jacob would be gone before anyone else had set up shop. That's why the others don't recollect your brother being around here long---he kept out of their sight real good." Lorelei shook her head about the necessity of Jacob sneaking around. "Superstitious rot, all of them."

_Very clever, Jacob._ Will grinned. Clearly, his brother knew who to ally with when he needed to.

The beggar forgot about the peddler and shifted her focus to the road. She waited, still as a statue, and watched. Will crouched beside her, growing more anxious as the sun sank towards the horizon. It would be dark in another hour. He no longer had to debate whether to ride out of the village or stay; his decision now was whether it would be possible for the 'madman's brother' to find lodging or simpler to sleep on a convenient bench for the night. The air was already growing colder, which gave the latter option a distinct lack of appeal.

Finally, impatience got the better of him. "What is it we're waiting for?"

She held up her hand. "There, settle down, now. It's not a 'what', it's _who_, and he'll be along any minute now."

Three minutes, in fact, passed before a shift in the woman's stance signaled that something had sparked her interest. "That's him. Hob's his name," she said. Will peered over the wall to see for himself. It was a man all right, perhaps in his thirties. He was tanned dark brown and lugged a cart and shovel along the road they'd been watching all afternoon. Beside Will, Lorelei's posture tensed like a cat about to pounce on a mouse. Will almost pitied the clueless wretch with the cart…almost, had not his brother's welfare been in question.

Hob, on the other hand, had nothing on his mind that afternoon besides the desperate need for a hot bath. Earning a living with his shovel was back-breaking, more so with each passing year. He'd been digging wells that day for the nearby farmers, and had made the long walk back to the village soaked from shoe to waist with frigid well water. His boots had been filled with water before he'd been pulled from the well, soaking his stockings too so that every step home was a squishy, miserable mess. Longing for hearth, home, and _warm_ water, the appearance of the beggar woman from behind a wall almost prompted him to turn and run away.

"No, no…" He pointed a finger at Lorelei as if the digit had the power to freeze her in place so he could pass by.

The beggar pointed a finger right back at him. "Don't you run from me, Hob!"

Hob ignored the request. He quickened his pace along the road while still trying to ward her off with his finger. "Stay away from me woman! I'm in no mind for your mewling today!" He hefted his shovel…until Will came up from behind Hob and clamped his hand on the handle, quashing any half-formed ideas the man might have of threatening the vagrant woman with the tool.

"Manners, sir, when you're addressing the queen," Will purred dangerously, having no tolerance on his part for the most miniscule and passing notion of raising a weapon against any woman.

"I'm a princess," Lorelei corrected him.

"You've earned the throne today," Will humored her out of gratitude for her assistance.

Hob rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't start with that 'princess' rubbish, crazy old crone."

Will slapped Hob in the back of the head. "I believe I said 'manners', sir, or should I make my point more forcefully?"

Hob glared as if seeing Will for the first time. "Who are _you_? Why are you bothering me? I've done nothing to you!"

The beggar answered instead. "He's Wilhelm Grimm…kin of Jacob Grimm."

Raw fear made Hob's eyes grow wide. He dropped the shovel and attempted to flee. Undaunted, Will merely tripped the man and laid the handle of the discarded shovel across Hob's neck, pinning him to the ground. "Yes, _that_ Jacob," Will said. "Why is it the mention of my brother scatters all of you like sheep running from a wolf? You wouldn't have done anything to my brother, would you?" Will shoved a bit harder on the shovel handle, choking the man a bit, so Hob would know what he intended to do if the answer to that question was 'yes'.

"I didn't do nothing wrong! Let me go!" Hob gasped out. He tried to kick at Will, until Grimm added to Hob's misery by leaning one knee on the man's chest and resting his body weight there. "I earned my wages fair! You want the coins back? You're too late! I used them for my debts. I was only supposed to dig, and I did like I said I would!"

"Dig for what?" Will demanded.

Hob coughed, turning a bit blue. Will eased up on the handle a bit, letting the man gasp down a lungful of air. Hob glowered sourly at Will, rubbing his bruising neck. "He wouldn't tell me what. Said I was better off not knowing."

"You know what he was after," Lorelei accused.

"I don't, woman!" Hob barked. To Will, he added, "I promise! Mr. Grimm didn't want me to get in bad with the townsfolk for helping him. He paid me to show up at sunrise and help him dig until sunset. At sunset, he'd give me my coin, send me home, and go sit beneath a tree, scribbling in his book. I wasn't supposed to tell anyone he was here, and I didn't."

Will believed him. It sounded like Jacob. He removed his knee from Hob's chest. "Did Jacob find what he was looking for?" he pressed.

Hob shook his head. "No---and I told him he wouldn't."

"All those weeks and he didn't find anything?" Will found that hard to believe. Jacob was like a dog with a bone once he got an idea into his head. He wouldn't abandon his search and slink away empty-handed---he'd spend the rest of his life digging a hole straight through the earth first.

The digger started to reply, but then closed his mouth and reconsidered. "Coins. Gold coins. We found lots of them at first, but not so many after the first week. He wasn't after them, so he let me keep whatever I found. Paid my way out of some nasty debts with them---that's why I was okay about keeping our work a secret." Hob puffed up a bit. "Mr. Grimm's lucky I'm an honorable man. Some of the folks around here would have smashed him in the head and buried him in his hole to claim a spot with gold coins…and no one would have ever found him buried in those hills."

_That was true._ There was something deeply terrifying about how easily Jacob could have gotten himself killed---several times over—during his sojourn in this town. Satisfied that Hob had no more information to offer and was telling something close to the truth, Will relented and allowed the man to stand. "Gold coins?" _Of course, why keep a fortune in gold coins when there were much more interesting ghosts to dig up? Yes, that definitely sounded like Jacob._

Hob balked, but pulled one golden coin from his vest pocket. "My last one. I went back after Mr. Grimm left to look for more, but there weren't any more." He permitted Will to examine the coin…only for a minute. "Then the priest come along and made me fill in the holes and swear on my soul to never set foot there again." Hob scratched his head. "Wonder how he found out we were up there, come to think of it…"

Will gaped at the coin. "Roman? These are ancient Roman!" he said, astounded.

"The old Romans had territory here back in their day. They were fond of our land. Mr. Grimm said the coins weren't what he wanted, that what he was after was older than the Romans…maybe from before Jesus, even."

"The 'old ghosts'?" Will supplied.

Hob turned to Lorelei. "You talk too much, woman."

"Do you know who the 'old ghosts' were?" Will asked him.

"No. I just know it's not a fit subject for decent folks." The digger waggled his fingers until Will returned the coin to him.

"And you're very sure that Jacob found nothing besides those coins?" Will had to be clear about that. If his brother hadn't turned up anything, especially not strange altars and knives with blades made of light, then perhaps Will really was chasing around the country for nothing.

Hob nodded. "One morning, he just thanked me for my help, said what he was looking for wasn't here, paid me an extra week's wages, and rode out of the village…" The digger rubbed his chin. "One thing's odd: When he left, he had some sort of bundle under his arm. It was strange because it was wrapped in sackcloth and…"

"Tied with a red silk cord," Will finished.

"That's right. I don't know where he got it. He didn't have it the night before. Seemed happy as could be for a man who wasted a month digging around the hills for nothing."

Will asked, "When was that? When did he leave?"

"It was just two weeks ago," Hob answered.

_Two weeks! _He'd missed intercepting Jacob from this idiotic scheme of his by one week! Will fought the urge to scream an oath in deference to Lorelei's presence.

"I haven't seen him since." Hob finished his story. "Is he in some sort of trouble?"

_No doubt._ Will wasn't paying attention to the digger or the vagrant woman anymore. His mind centered on a nightmare image of a wand, wrapped in sackcloth and tied with a red silk cord and light piercing his brother's chest like a dagger. _He found it. I'm not sure what 'it' is, but Jacob found it._

A gust of icy wind answered.


	4. Chapter 4

AUTHOR'S NOTE: _I don't own the characters (Miramax does) or the fairy tales referenced in this story. I'm not making one single penny off this story. (pauses) I wouldn't mind borrowing the boys for awhile though…_

_1) This is rated TEEN for a reason. There are some very adult themes and situations and angst in here and some violence. It deals with rather dark issues relating to familial rifts and deaths of family members (if you saw the movie, you know to what I'm referring). Can't handle, please don't read. 2) Although there are religious references in the story, nothing is based on any real people or cults. They were completely fabricated for plot purposes and if you see similarities to any real people or cults, you are squinting way too hard, if you know what I mean. Do _not _try anything you see in this story, boys and girls, because it's all made up stuff. So, if anyone flames for reasons of dark themes or religious references, I'm going to ignore it because I've given fair warning. 3) The opinions expressed by characters do not reflect the opinion of this writer._ _See Chapter One for the rest of the notes._

**4**

Hob happened to be another fortunate acquaintance. Humble and well liked among the villagers, it was the digger who took it upon himself to find a room for Will in a small boarding house. His vouching for the traveler overcame the owner's initial apprehension about the Grimm brother. The owner grudgingly agreed to rent Will a room…just for the night.

Before leaving, Hob pulled Will aside. "That one," he jerked his head towards the innkeeper, "is not a good one to ask about old ghosts in the hills. In fact, I wouldn't ask anyone around here if I were you. Some ghosts are best left buried." To Will's surprise, Hob then offered a friendly handshake. "I don't wish no harm to your brother, friend. He's not a bad sort. Good luck to you, I hope you find him." With that, the digger picked up his shovel, tossed it into his cart, and skulked out into the night.

Will wanted a hot meal, a drink, and a bed. He'd managed the first two, but his thoughts were keeping him awake. So, he'd abandoned the warmth of his bed and wandered downstairs. The boarding house had a small tavern that served meals. It bustled with sufficient activity that Will could mingle with relative anonymity (once the curious crowd finished staring), but wasn't so chaotic that a man couldn't slip over to a table and collect his thoughts, which was what Will did. He found an empty table near the window and sat down, contemplating what he'd learned that day.

His thoughts, however, were being altogether uncooperative. This was the first moment of true rest Will had since that dreadful nightmare, but there was no respite in it. His body was tired from days of riding followed by an afternoon tagging along with the beggar woman, then a brisk walk up the hill with Hob—racing to get there and back before sunset---to satisfy himself that Jacob had indeed left no clue of what he'd found during his excavation of the hillside.

The question of whether specters, precognition, or some dormant and unfamiliar fraternal instinct had sent Will on this errand no longer mattered to him. He was not willing to become swayed to belief in spirits and hokum because he'd encountered some passing elements similar to his dream. Yes, Jacob had apparently cut his hair and grown a beard. That was hardly remarkable. So, this village was in a forest like the one in the dream? Definitely nothing out of the ordinary there.

Sackcloth bundles tied with red silk cord.

_Coincidence and no more_, Will finally decided, dismissing it. Seeing a package in a dream didn't bother him. It was the possibilities of what could be in that bundle and what Jacob intended to do with it that unsettled Will. He was used to Jacob's antics eliciting strong emotions in people…anger predominantly. Embarrassment. Annoyance. Abject humiliation. But fear for his younger brother? Concern? That was, Will was somewhat ashamed to admit to himself, an infrequent feeling for him where Jacob was concerned.

Jacob had scared Will in the past, but usually in a momentary, fleeting way. As a child, Jacob had been unpredictable if nothing else…one of the traits that had made some wretched people question the boy's sanity before Mother snuck her sons out of town that night long ago. Once, Will had to bodily tackle his brother to save him from being trampled by a carriage. Will and Jacob had been walking home from their morning errands when Jacob had---with no warning at all---darted from Will's side and into the street. He'd been trying to save a frog (a _frog_ for God's sake!) that had hopped into the path of the carriage. Will had, in turn, dove to save his brother. It had been such a close call that Will had almost felt the wheels of the carriage as it passed a hair's breadth from his shoulder. The incident frightened the life out of Will---he'd nearly been sick, in fact. Jacob, however, had happily released the frog to the safety of the riverbank, heedless of his own brush with death.

That act, the fear and the feeling of a protective instinct for his sibling, was a rarity for Will. He'd felt it again this afternoon, twice, when Father Traugott and digger Hob had informed him of Jacob's close calls in this town.

No, he'd felt that fear _three_ times today, Will realized. The third time was the instant he'd discovered that Jacob had found that strange wand-object from the nightmare. The only people who knew the purpose of that artifact object were Jacob (who was absent at the moment) and possibly Father Traugott (who was uncooperative at the moment). Will had only a suspicion of Jacob's intentions for the object, thanks to that nightmare. He hadn't spoken to his brother in years, and couldn't say with certainty where Jacob had wandered in that time---distancing himself from his sibling to distance himself from painful memories---so Will had no idea at all where Jacob would go after leaving this village, or where to search next if he was to stop his brother from using the damned thing on himself.

Will had always been reluctant to protect his younger brother from the consequences of his actions, believing that if Jacob took enough lumps for his odd behavior, it might knock sense into the boy. That prayer had gone unanswered in all possible ways. Will had pointedly walked away when Hollis tormented Jacob about his journal in hopes the bloodied nose would teach his brother to leave the damned book in whatever hiding place he kept it at home. It didn't. Will kept his mouth shut when Jacob was rebuked by teachers, ministers, and other adults for his belief in myth and magic and fairies and talking fish in hopes Jacob would give up his ridiculous obsession. Jacob didn't. In fact, Jacob was quite resilient in that way: The more his beliefs in those flights of fancy were attacked and questioned, the more doggedly he clung to them and the more determined he became to prove them real. _It might have been inspiring…if he'd ever once succeeded in proving himself right._

Maybe Will had been wrong to let his brother take his lumps. Maybe he should have kept a better eye on Jacob, reined in some of his more bizarre behavior so that it at least didn't draw unwelcome attention from other people. Maybe if he had, Jacob wouldn't be wandering around Germany, barely escaping being burned or having murder by treasure seekers, taking risks without sensibility or discretion, antagonizing folks along his path…

Will turned to glance out the window. He spied a form sleeping at the foot of the St. Peter statue on the opposite side of the road, a form bundled in filthy clothes against the cold evening. The beggar 'princess' Lorelei, no doubt. _Well, I suppose Jacob didn't antagonize _everyone_ in this village. Maybe some of his instincts weren't so foolish._ Lorelei and Hob had proven their mettle after all.

He stared at the sleeping woman, before swearing softly. He couldn't sit there enjoying a drink or a meal while the woman was hungry and cold just outside. Will waved over the innkeeper's wife, who was doing double duty as server in the tavern. He pointed towards the window to the vagrant beggar outside. "Would you send a hot meal to her, ma'am?" When the innkeeper's wife wrinkled her brow (whether in confusion or disdain, he didn't know), Will pressed several coins into her hand…double the price he'd paid for his own meal.

"It's your money, friend," the woman shrugged.

She was about to go carry out his request when Will had a second inspiration and called to her, "Wait!" The woman paused and watched curiously as he emptied the pockets of his long, black overcoat onto the table. Will then passed the garment to the innkeeper. "Take this to her as well." When the woman raised an eyebrow, Will felt his ears burn. "It needs mending anyway," he added.

Shaking her head, the woman shuffled away to deliver the meal and the coat as instructed. Will heard her mutter something that sounded distinctly like: "Barking mad just like his brother…" He chose to let the remark pass and went about collecting the small stack of his belongings from the tabletop.

Jacob's letter to their Mother lay top the pile. Will let it lie, untouched, for a long while and simply stared at the seal on the envelope. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop, hesitating. It dawned on him that Jacob had written that letter here, in this village, without a doubt around the time he'd unearthed that wand-artifact, for the return address was Father Traugott's church. Jacob never would have told Mother about the wand-artifact, particularly not if he planned to do something to put himself in peril with it, as Will had seen in the nightmare. He might, however, have given their Mother some clue where he was heading once he left this village. Will wouldn't know unless he read the letter.

_It's not as if I have any better ideas,_ Will decided. He broke the seal on the envelope and swiftly read the words printed in Jacob's scrawling handwriting. When he did, a mirthless laugh escaped Will.

"So you've decided to read it finally. Good news, is it?"

Will knew that gravelly voice. He glanced up from the letter, surprised to find Father Traugott standing at the opposite side of the table. The older man flashed his kind smile.

"No…well yes…of a sort." Will pocketed the letter. "It seems I could have saved myself the ride to your fair village if I'd only read it beforehand. Jacob heard that our Mother was ill and wrote that he was going back to Catriona to visit her. So, I've disturbed all of your good people and spent a month's earnings for nothing." Will gestured to an empty seat, inviting the priest to join him.

Father Traugott remained standing, shifting his weight nervously. "Perhaps not," he said. The priest checked to be sure none of the other patrons were taking undue interest in their conversation. "Would you walk with me, Mr. Grimm? I have some words for you best kept for your ears only."

With a nod, Will followed the priest out of the tavern and onto the street. He briefly lamented the loss of his coat when the cold and misty air washed over him…briefly, before the vagrant woman, happily wrapped in the black coat, caught sight of Will and bounded over to him with her cat-like gait. Lorelei grabbed Will's face in her gloved hands and---to his chagrin---planted a kiss squarely on his mouth. "That's for your coat, Will Grimm," she grinned.

Will bit his lip and forced a smile for her. She wasn't done with him yet. He let out a yelp in spite of his efforts at manners when she followed with a second kiss, as direct as the first. "That's for your coat," she explained.

"Not nece---" he stammered.

To his horror, and the priest's amusement, before Will could escape her grasp, Lorelei planted a third, prolonged kiss on the startled young man. "That one's for Mr. Jacob when you see him," the beggar said. "Such good boys, I love you both."

Will, gently but firmly, pried her hands from his face before she found an excuse for a fourth kiss. "Yes, thank you, we…er…we love you as well---your grace."

Satisfied, the beggar woman curtsied regally and retreated to her spot by the statue, leaving Will standing there with the priest in a moment of self-conscious silence. Will's face flamed. "Friend of the family," he told Father Traugott.

"The Lord loveth a cheerful giver, son," the priest answered, still amused.

As if in agreement, as they set off down the street, a flash of lightning turned night to day and a single clap of thunder boomed almost directly overhead. There was the sound of a commotion in the square behind them---most likely villagers scattering for shelter from the unexpected foul weather. Will glanced skyward, anticipating a downpour, but there was only mist above them. The priest paid the event no mind at all, but simply led the way down the street, away from the noise and chaos in the square.

Intent on his conversation with the priest, it wouldn't occur to Will until days later that there were no more streaks of lightning, no more rumbles of thunder, or not a single drop of rain the rest of that evening.

"So, you've found your brother. You'll be returning home, I trust?" the priest was asking him.

"Yes…clearly he's stumbled into some kind of foolishness again. I don't know what, but someone has to talk some common sense into him," Will said.

Father Traugott stared at his own feet as they walked. It seemed a long while before he spoke again. "I might be able to help you with the question of 'what'," he said tentatively. "First, however, I must know---what I'm about to tell you, I could be excommunicated, or worse, for the very mention of it. I've never broken my vow not to speak of the ghosts in those hills, but…I'm afraid for your brother's welfare, Mr. Grimm." The priest met Will's eyes now, his mouth set in a determined line. Will read the depths of fear in those eyes. For his part, the priest saw the younger man's features grow solemn and apprehensive in reaction to his words. "It's not my way to stand idle when a man's soul is in peril."

Will nodded in accord. "It stays between us. You have my word."

Having made up his mind to speak, Father Traugott wasted no time getting to the point. "Those hills beyond our village were once the realm of those who practiced…dark arts. Those were ancient times, in the days before the arrival of our Lord and Savior, before God-fearing men drove them out of this land. Their heathen temples were destroyed, their artifacts and writings were burned, and that which would not burn was buried. It was hoped that we had destroyed all remnants of their blasphemous ways…" The priest was troubled by one thing. "Since some of them escaped, it's difficult to say for sure if their evil ways were truly extinguished or if they've only gone into hiding. From that day forward, in our land, any practice of their---witchcraft, for lack of a better word---was forbidden under pain of death. The knowledge of them was for the ears of priests like myself, then only to prevent it from ever poisoning souls to unrighteous ways. We prevented our good people from knowing the truth for the sake of saving their souls. They became myths and legends, ghost stories whispered among the people who knew only that something evil once existed in those hills, but nothing more. Your brother, on the other hand, knew the legend before he ever set foot in my church."

_There's no myth or legend that could be hidden from Jacob once he'd made up his mind to find it_, Will hid a small grin. "So, they aren't ghosts?"

"No. Heathens. Blasphemers. Anhängers vom Messer des Feuer," the priest practically spat the words, as if they left a bad taste in his mouth.

Will blanched. "'Followers of the Knife of Fire'?" _Knife of fire…fire blade…the blade from the nightmare._

Father Traugott shushed him, frightened that the name be carried on the wind to the ears of an innocent soul. "The myth of that blade made their wretched ways almost impossible to defeat. Mastery over death itself is too enticing a prize to mortal man. You see, their first…I will not say 'priest', their deceiver, was a man called Desdemond. He claimed that his heathen gods bestowed upon him that blade in order to bring his beloved wife back from the dead. According to their legend, in order to use the Messer des Feuer, Desdemond was required to travel across the great sea to the home of his gods, to the Altar des Feuer. Only there could the blade be used to resurrect his wife----" It dawned on the priest that Will had fallen behind a few paces. "Mr. Grimm?"

Sister's voice echoed in Will's ears: _What he's always done…for me, Will._ "Sister…what he's always done…Jacob's still trying to save her with magic." Will wished desperately for a place to sit down and the reality of his brother's plan hit him.

Father Traugott may not have understood the reference, but he seemed to know what Will meant. "For his sake, I hope not. Even if he found the Messer des Feuer or the Altar des Feuer—which is quite impossible---the power of the blade demands the price of a human sacrifice on that altar." The priest was obviously revolted at the notion.

"Jacob found it," Will knew it. The priest frowned in doubt. "Believe me, Father. The knife of fire---Jacob has it."

"Even if he did, you don't believe in such blasphemous tales?"

"Myself? No. Jacob? Absolutely," Will answered.

The priest could hear the conviction in the younger man's tone and accepted Will's word. "He wouldn't sacrifice another soul---?"

"Lord, no---sorry, Father. No, Jacob couldn't sacrifice a field mouse." Will saw again the image of light piercing Jacob's chest. "There's only one way…Father, the Altar des Feuer, you said it was somewhere across the great sea? Do you know where?"

Father Traugott shook his head. "If I knew, I wouldn't tell you, my son. It's for your and Jacob's best interest, for the welfare of all mankind, that it's never found."

"One thing I do know about my brother---he has a way of finding things that shouldn't be found."

Will returned to the boarding house at a near run. He couldn't wait until morning to set out. There wasn't time. Hob had last seen Jacob two weeks ago. Jacob had a fortnight's head start on Will---and he had that fire blade. Will prayed two weeks wasn't enough time for his brother to trace the whereabouts of the altar as well. _Time's almost gone_, Sister had warned. Will intended to put lantern and moonlight to good use making up for lost time. He hoped Jacob had gone home before chasing after the altar, as he'd written in his letter. If he had, he would have learned of their Mother's death, and he might linger at her house just long enough for Will to catch up with him. Once he'd tracked down his brother, Will would put these insane stories of fire blades and resurrection to rest once and for all.

Hope did not quite reach his heart. It was a feeble hope at best, but it was all he had.

The square in front of the boarding house was still crowded when Will returned. He had not the slightest interest in whatever had the townsfolk stirred up---at least they gawking at something other than Will and he was grateful for that fact. As politely as possible given his sense of urgency, Will pushed his way through the crowd and ducked into the boarding house to retrieve his belongings. He was able to purchase two lanterns and a new coat from the innkeeper.

Will had made his purchases and collected his belongings in less than five minutes. He had retrieved his horse from the stable, saddled it, tied the lanterns to the stirrups, and was on his way before ten minutes had elapsed. Maneuvering his mount around the throng of people in the square caused only the slightest delay in Will's departure. He had to shout his apologies and excuses to be heard above the din of the people's babbling. _For pity's sake, were they always this excitable whenever a stray clap of thunder disturbed their evenings_?

A voice called for his attention, struggling to be heard above the chatter: "Mr. Will! Good luck, Mr. Will!"

It was the beggar Lorelei's voice. Will glanced backwards to wave farewell, but could not catch sight of the old bearded woman among the knot of people. Perhaps he'd imagined hearing her calling to him.

Turning back to the road and urging his horse onward, Will missed seeing the gaze of the maiden at the center of the chaos in the square. The lovely young girl with flowing red hair, adorned in a deep blue dress and crown, tried to raise her hand high enough that Will could see her wave above the heads of the crowd. "And thanks for the kiss, Will Grimm!" she called as Will vanished into the mist and pale moonlight.


	5. Chapter 5

AUTHOR'S NOTE: _I don't own the characters (Miramax does) or the fairy tales referenced in this story. I'm not making one single penny off this story. (pauses) I wouldn't mind borrowing the boys for awhile though…_

_1) This is rated TEEN for a reason. There are some very adult themes and situations and angst in here and some violence. It deals with rather dark issues relating to familial rifts and deaths of family members (if you saw the movie, you know to what I'm referring). Can't handle, please don't read. 2) Although there are religious references in the story, nothing is based on any real people or cults. They were completely fabricated for plot purposes and if you see similarities to any real people or cults, you are squinting way too hard, if you know what I mean. Do _not _try anything you see in this story, boys and girls, because it's all made up stuff. So, if anyone flames for reasons of dark themes or religious references, I'm going to ignore it because I've given fair warning. 3) The opinions expressed by characters do not reflect the opinion of this writer._ _See Chapter One for the rest of the notes._

**5**

Only a matter of weeks had passed since Will had last departed the seaside village of Catriona after Mother's burial, and he'd been sure at the time that he would never set foot in the town again. _Never say never…_ He'd left angry---as he often did---the line between grief and anger blurred so it became impossible to distinguish one from the other.

With each passing day he'd spent in the village, in her house, Will had grown more doubtful that Jacob had received word of her passing or, if he had, that he'd retreated into his own fantasy world the way he had when Sister and Father had died instead of facing the situation. Will had seen no reason to delay the funeral to wait to see if Jacob's flights of fancy landed him home to deal with the real world. Will buried their Mother, appointed a trustworthy banker to deal with her scant financial affairs, collected her few belongings, and rode away without knowing if Jacob had ever shown his face or not.

If Jacob had left Hollenstadt two weeks ago to return to Catriona, he would know by now that their Mother had passed. Will had buried her in a small cemetery not far from her home. Since the house was in all likelihood sold by now, the cemetery was the logical place to search for Jacob if he was still in the coastal town. Will rode to the cemetery straightaway. He pointedly avoided gazing at the headstones; the sight of them overlapped with images of the stone monoliths he'd seen in his nightmare.

Will supposed his mind was playing tricks on him due to exhaustion, for he'd been riding three days without stopping (and this in addition to the previous long ride he'd made to get to Hollenstadt). His eyelids—his entire body—were heavy with the need for sleep, but Will forced himself to stay awake. The horse knew the path and mercifully picked its way to the cemetery and past rows of grave markers without much guidance from its weary rider.

There were few people to be found in or around the place that morning. It was a rainy, dreary day, which would discourage visitors. None of them even faintly resembled Jacob. _Would I know Jacob if I saw him?_ The sudden doubt alarmed Will, but he dismissed it at once. Yes, it was sadly true that he hadn't seen his brother in years. Yes, Jacob had cut off his hair, grown a beard, gained a pair of glasses, perhaps gotten an inch or two taller. But, Will would know his brother if—_when_—he found him. He would. Will held fast to the picture of Jacob as he'd been in that nightmare, the picture Sister had shown him of Jacob as his brother might look now.

It was soon apparent, as Will closed on the carved angel that marked their Mother's resting place, that none of the people wandering the cemetery was Jacob. It was dispiriting, but Will wouldn't abandon hope yet. Just because he wasn't at the grave now didn't mean Jacob had left the village yet. Will would take the back road into the village, just perchance he'd come across his brother along that route.

First, of course, Will would have to stop at the sculpted angel to pay his respects to their Mother. He slid from his horse, grunting at the exertion of this simple movement as his weary body repaid him for the abuse of the near-constant riding he'd done the past two weeks. Winter flowers were blooming not far away, and Will stopped to gather a few to place on Mother's headstone.

He found the headstone already adorned with flowers. Someone had cleared away the long-since wilted flowers from her funeral. Red winter begonias replaced them. Red winter begonias were their Mother's favorite---as only her sons knew---she'd placed them on Sister's grave long, long ago. From the degree of wilt, they'd been left on the grave only a few days ago.

Jacob had been there! Will was certain of it.

Invigorated by this glimmer of hope, Will hastened into Catriona, despite having no idea where to search next. He hadn't intentionally guided the horse towards their Mother's former home, but Will soon found himself riding along the familiar streets that led to her cottage. When their former home came into view, Will could see lantern light in the windows and a wisp of smoke from its chimney mingling with the gray clouds above.

The first time he'd left his Mother's home, Will hadn't departed on good terms. Will hadn't wanted to face Mother. It was getting hard to face her with the signs of age and illness beginning to show, despite her efforts to disguise them. Will would never admit to himself or anyone else that fear of watching her slowly die had been part of what prompted him to decide to go, but he had a feeling Mother had seen his fear in his eyes.

Mother would have pressed him to accept what little money she had when he left or she would have begged tearfully for him to stay until he relented. So, he'd stole away under cover of the night, leaving only a note promising to send word when he settled. At the time, Will hadn't given any thought to where he would go, only that he had to go. He'd spend years after that night concocting reasons---justifications---for creeping away in the pre-dawn hours like a thief in flight. The reason, besides sparing himself an emotional scene from their Mother, in the forefront of his mind that day was simple:

Will was tired.

Tired of poverty, for one thing. Venturing forth to seek his fortune was a reasonable thing for a man almost eighteen to do. No justification was required. His childhood had been one of abject impoverishment and surviving hand to mouth. Most of the burden of helping Mother pay their debts had fallen on Will's shoulders, as the older son. He'd taken what odd jobs he could find to do so. Jacob did what he could, but still being a boy---and an eccentric one at that---limited him to helping by selling what vegetables they could grow in their garden and begging chores from the soft-hearted shopkeepers.

There was no fortune to be made in odd jobs, Will had long-since decided. Frau Grendle had told him otherwise---promising that hard work, discipline, dedication, study, and time would reward him some day and he might even have a little shop of his own. The flaw in her plan was that not one aspect of it, most particularly the 'hard work', appealed in the slightest to Will. He'd find his fortune sooner, not later, and the less effort involved, the better.

Inventions had seemed the shortest route to solvency. Will lacked the zeal for labor, but he was a gifted inventor (in his opinion, at least. Not knowing any other inventors, he had no basis for comparison) and convinced himself that he could sell his creations for a quick profit in one of Germany's larger cities. While it was true that his absence would put some strain on his Mother for a short while, soon enough he'd have more than ample money to send home. _In the meanwhile, let Jacob shoulder some more of the burden that had been Will's for years._ Jacob was a teenager now. It was time he pried his nose from his books and journal and his head from the clouds and learned something of the real world.

All of these were perfectly valid reasons for going as far as Will had been concerned.

There was, however, one more thing Will had tired of: He was weary of the weight of responsibility for Jacob. Some days, the mere sight of that well-worn journal his brother loved and the knowledge of what was inside the book---the hokum and rubbish---was enough to elicit a rage from Will. He had no interest in protecting his younger brother from his own follies any more. If prattling about blasphemous matters (in church of all places!) earned Jacob a switch across the rear, maybe he'd learn to hold his tongue. If chatting with invisible, imaginary folks got him a blackened eye or a broken nose from other children, why should Will bloody himself by getting in the middle of the matter? Yes, time at real work and more responsibility for Jacob seemed perfectly fair.

Will hadn't come back until he'd heard of their Mother's death.

The sight of warm light and smoke from their former home was both comforting and eerie in its familiarity. Will felt for an instant as if he were a boy again, riding to the house, where a fire would be blazing in the hearth to warm the cottage and their Mother would be cooking supper or mending their clothes. He half-expected to see Jacob on his favorite perch—atop the stone wall that lined the road---with his book in his hands.

A child's face _did_ appear, peering at Will over the top of that wall as he rode past. Whether it was a boy or girl Will couldn't guess with the small face half-hidden behind the wall. The child's eyes, so large and luminous that they were almost like orbs of glass than of flesh and blood, tracked his movements as Will's horse cantered by. There was something odd about the child's hair, but Will couldn't put his finger on what it was and had the good grace not to stare. He spied a second child, not much more than a blob beneath a heavy cloak, played in front of the cottage. At Will's approach, the youth fled for the sanctuary of a nearby alley.

_The banker had been prompt about finding someone to purchase the home. _Jacob would have stopped by the cottage to ask after their Mother. Will knew this because he would have done the same thing. Perhaps whoever lived in the house now would have word of where Jacob had gone off to. Will wondered how Jacob had reacted when he'd found out their home was gone now. _The minister was right, I should have sent word to Jacob myself._ How had Jacob reacted to coming home to find their Mother passed away and their home sold, on Will's orders? Will had disposed of the home without consulting his brother, believing at the time that it was the only course of action, but now he wondered what how he'd explain his actions to Jacob. His brother would have words for him about the matter, Will was certain.

Will imagined the dialogue: _"Well, hello Jake, sorry I haven't written in years. Sorry I didn't tell you about our Mother myself, I was afraid if I asked you to the funeral you might actually show up. _Will winced to himself---that had been a brutally honest admission, even just admitting it to himself. Had the potential for embarrassment at his eccentric brother's presence really kept Will from sending word about Mother? That conversation would be hard enough without the questions Will was saving to ask: "_I only happened by the house because our dead Sister told me in a dream that you were planning to use a mystical blade from a vanquished heathen cult to sacrifice yourself. You wouldn't be planning to sacrifice yourself would you? I thought not. My mistake."_ _Yes, and perhaps when the next wagon came to try to haul his brother away, they'd save a seat for me…on a brighter note, it would please Jacob no end that I've finally lost my wits as well…_

The cottage hadn't changed since Will had left it weeks ago. The new owner hadn't so much as plucked the withered summer blossoms from the yard or moved the basket of kindling outside the doorway. Will almost expected their Mother, alerted by the sound of hooves, to open the door and call Will and Jacob to supper…

Maybe it was that moment of reverie, maybe it was the lack of sleep finally taking its toll on his mental faculties and making him hallucinate, but when the door opened following Will's first knock, he was sure that he was greeted by a marionette the size of a small child. Its massive glass eyes stared into his own eyes, and a grotesquely painted smile leered at him. Of the puppeteer who was manipulating the thing, there was no sign at all.

Whether it owed to imagination or sleep deprivation, the end result was the same: Being face to face with the large puppet taxed Will's weary body and spirit to its breaking point. Will suddenly found the floor of the cottage rushing up to meet him…

"Mr. Will, sir?"

The voice was summoning Will, against his wishes, from the peace of the blackness that had engulfed him. Without opening his eyes, he knew he was lying down on a soft bed---a soft bed someplace warm. Opening his eyes, inevitably, would mean abandoning his comfortable position, and Will loathed doing so. It seemed a very long time since he'd been warm or had a soft place to sleep. If only that voice would leave him alone.

Strange scents filled his nose. Languishing there, flat on his back, Will's mind tried to identify the smells. The scents formed an overpowering, but not unpleasant, earthy aroma. Wood was the predominant odor. Sawdust tickled his nose, nearly drawing a sneeze out of him. He smelled dried flowers and spices as well; their fragrances mingled in the air oddly like perfume. Beneath all this, there was the smell of food---Will didn't know what it was, but it smelled wonderful. He breathed in that aroma and his stomach rumbled in response.

"Mr. Will? Welcome back, sir."

Damn the luck, whoever was insisting on disturbing his rest knew he was awake. He had no recollection of where he was, no idea who was speaking, and he didn't care. Will kept his eyes closed, hoping whoever it was would take the hint and go away.

"Should I say, welcome home, sir?" the pesky voice asked.

_Welcome home_?

Will opened his eyes as soon as the implications of those words penetrated the murkiness of sleep that clouded his mind. He was rewarded by nearly having the life frightened out of him: He was lying beneath a heap of blankets, on bedding packed with straw, in a room lit by a fire in a hearth and some few lanterns. In the flickering firelight, Will saw that dozens of tiny arms and legs and headless torsos and clumps of hair had been hung on the walls and packed shelves. He almost screamed before he discerned that these were not human limbs, but wooden carvings meant for puppets, and the bundles of hair were horses' hair. He stifled the scream, but the flickering firelight still made the scenery somewhat ghastly…

Will knew this room. He recognized the walls, the shelves, the hearth---this was his home, his Mother's home. Sitting up on the bedding, he took a good look around. Yes, it was his Mother's cottage, no question. He was lying on the bed in the larger of the cottage's two rooms. However, Will didn't know the dark-haired, dark-eyed, heavy-set woman who sat at the wooden table on the other side of the room. She looked to be in her forties, only a little younger than his Mother. She was whittling something resembling a tiny hand out of a piece of wood.

She was also staring at him. "I'm Serya. Good to meet you, finally. Mr. Jacob said you might happen by Catriona. Wasn't expecting you so soon, though."

His memory slowly returned: He recalled the ride from the mountain town, stopping at the cemetery and finding out that Jacob had been there, and coming back to this house…seeing a bizarre puppet like the marionettes hanging on the walls, and then nothing. He'd had the misguided impression that a puppet—without benefit of strings---had somehow walked over and answered the door, but that must have been fatigue playing tricks on his mind. He must have seen the marionette hanging there, but missed the strings in the dim lighting of the cottage. That explained it. "How long was I asleep?"

"You slept from one afternoon clean through to the next," Serya informed him.

_A whole day lost. Wait, did she say----_? "Jacob? You've seen him?" Will asked. He started to push back the covers, but froze when it occurred to him that he wasn't sure if he was dressed or not beneath those blankets. A quick check told him that he was still wearing his long underwear and his white shirt, but his coat and pants were missing. Will spied them draped over a chair beside the bedding.

Serya grinned a bit at the young man's discomfiture. "No need to be embarrassed around me, son," she promised. She might not mind, but all the same, Will wrapped up in one of the blankets before standing up. "And, yes, I've seen Mr. Jacob. Not five days ago."

_Five days. Damn it—I was right, I could have intercepted Jacob if I hadn't taken that side trip to the mountains,_ Will cursed.

Serya pointed with her whittling knife in the general direction of the chair where she'd placed Will's clothes. "Mr. Jacob left you that package. Don't worry, I wouldn't open it…it's not my concern."

"A package? I don't understand--" Why would Jacob have left a package for Will here? How did Jacob even know Will was coming? Will found the object, wrapped in cloth, hidden beneath his coat. Will unwrapped it carefully. Its shape and weight was strangely similar to---

---Jacob's book.

Will couldn't help but gape. It was Jacob's book! At some point, a cord made of odd fibers joined by an odd wooden charm of some sort had been wrapped around the journal to hold it shut, but it was his brother's book without question. Jacob, who never let anyone lay a finger on his book without drawing their blood first, had left this for Will? Something about the gesture was humbling…and frightening. If Will ever needed proof that Jacob meant not to return from his fool's errand, here it was. His brother wouldn't turn loose of this book except to bequeath it. Instinctively, Will began to untie the bindings around the journal.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you!" Serya stopped her whittling to give that stern warning. Her face was as serious as her tone. "You're his brother. You know what Mr. Jacob collects in that book of his. There's magic in that book. Magic attracts magic—and not always the good sort. I made that cord and talisman for him. As long as it's holding the book shut, it'll keep the dark magic away. Gave your brother one just like it---he's going to need it where he's going. The waters around here are haunted, you know."

_No wonder Jacob found his way to this woman's company. His brother had a knack for attracting the village lunatics wherever he went._ Will was heartily sick of superstition and ghost stories. "The whole world has gone mad," he mumbled.

"What's that?" Serya asked.

Will faced her, speaking up this time. "Magic? It's a book. I don't believe in magic."

Serya didn't care what the young man believed. "Magic doesn't need your belief to be real. You'd do well to remember that, Wilhelm Grimm!" She took a breath, bringing her temper into check. "Forgive me, sir, I didn't mean to be curt."

All the same, Will decided to leave the journal alone for the time being. He told himself that his choice was only to prevent another outburst from the excitable woman, not because he believed a word of what she was saying. "Did you say you know where Jacob's going?" he asked her.

"No," Serya shook her head. "I said I know he went by water. I said bad things happen on those waters. But, Mr. Jacob's just like you---superstition and ghost stories don't cow him. That's how I come to know him. He used to follow my family and our friends all over the countryside---for an entire autumn, in fact---listening to the elders tell their stories, learning about our talismans…he must have ten generations of our stories in his book. Best that they _stay_ in that book, too. 'Course, he's not afraid of old ghosts and legends because he likes superstition and ghost stories, not because he doesn't believe in them." The last few words were meant as a rebuke aimed at Will.

Will chuckled at that. "You are very observant."

Serya offered a wide smile in answer, but still seemed troubled. "He went on his way. No warning I had made a difference. No use trying to talk sense into that boy."

Will cringed. "You don't have to tell me. I know."

"So, I did what I could giving Mr. Jacob that charm for protection." Serya resumed her whittling, as if venting anxiety through the motions of her knife against the wood. She bit her lip just a little. "The spirits have that boy's ear. It's all the living can do to get a word in."

Will hadn't thought about it that way, but there was undeniable truth to those words. "As I said, you're very observant." He fumbled to dress, while keeping hidden beneath the blanket. If Jacob had gone by water---across the 'great sea', naturally---he would need to go by boat. Will would ask around the docks to find out on which boat Jacob had booked passage.

At least, that was Will's intention. The simple act of getting the rest of his clothes on was proving more daunting than he'd expected. He'd been trying to move too quickly, and a sudden wave of dizziness almost toppled him. Serya dropped her whittling and dashed across the room to catch hold of Will's arm before he could fall. She guided him over to the table and pushed him down on the bench seat.

"There now, I know you're anxious to be off, but you'd best let me feed you first, Mr. Will. You won't get very far otherwise," Serya said kindly. She fetched a bowl from a shelf and moved to spoon whatever was cooking over the stove into the bowl.

"I…thank you…but I'm afraid I couldn't repay your hospitality," Will tried to decline. He was going to have to sell his horse just to buy passage on a boat to pursue his wayward sibling as it was.

Serya looked at him like he'd grown two heads. "No payment, sir. You'll have a roof and meals as long as you're in the village, just as we agreed." She set the bowl and a spoon in front of him.

Her tone implied that he should know about this 'agreement', but Will was at a loss. "'We agreed'?"

"You don't know?" Serya cocked her head a bit, as if trying to see if he was teasing her or not. "Mr. Graeber, the banker, was about to sell your Mother's house, but Mr. Jacob told him you'd both changed your mind about it. Mr. Jacob decided to let me stay here as caretaker just as long as I kept a bed and a meal for either of you should the need arise. Lucky for me, too. I was about to be turned out onto the street when I ran into Mr. Jacob."

_Still rescuing the damsels. Apparently, the living do get Jacob's ear now and then._ That also answered the question of how Jacob had reacted to finding out the cottage was to be sold, Will mused. Will knew now that he would definitely be on the receiving end of one of his brother's snits for giving the instructions---provided he ever tracked the fool down.

Serya sat back down and resumed her whittling while Will ate. She was whittling a wooden puppet's hand all right. He avoided glancing at it, concentrating on his food instead. The carving---like the various appendages Serya had carved that adorned the room---was so real it was almost disturbing.

She caught him glancing sidelong at the marionette pieces and winked, hoping to set him at ease about her strange artwork. "Don't mind them. They're my children."

That was an altogether bizarre thing to say, Will thought. Weren't those Serya's children he'd seen playing near the cottage when he'd arrived? He supposed it would be impolite to argue with her, so he let the matter pass. After a minute, he noticed the woman was still watching him.

"May I ask, is there a reason people insist on staring at me?" he blurted out. He was getting very tired of being subjected to such scrutiny from the public at large.

Serya kept whittling. "Why did you want to sell the house, Mr. Will? I could tell from your surprise that you didn't know about Mr. Jacob's arrangement with me, and I could tell from his---remarks---that he didn't know about your arrangement with the banker."

"Because, unlike my brother, I'm not particularly fond of living with ghosts!" Will was blunt about it. It was the truth---he'd wanted to get rid of the cottage and never return because the place reminded him too much of Sister, of Mother, of Jacob, and all that had ever transpired in his turbulent childhood.

"The trouble with forgetting the bad memories is you forget the good ones with them," Serya pointed out.

"Very astute. Thank you."

"I wonder---" the woman began, but changed her mind.

The unvoiced question hung in the air until finally Will prompted, "Go ahead and ask."

Serya fiddled with the puppet hand. "Your ghosts give you so much anger. Mr. Jacob's give him so much pain…"

_Pain? In Jacob?_ Will tried to interrupt, but Serya finished her thought.

"I know the eyes of the haunted, and you both have them. Mr. Jacob's trying to exorcise his ghosts. I guess you're running from yours. I wonder if it's the same ghosts driving both of you…"

The door opened with a bang. Will jumped, thinking the wind was kicking up again to bedevil him, but it was the hooded children he'd seen playing in the field. They scampered into the cottage, leaving twin trails of mud in their wake. "Pieno! Klio! Shoes, children!" Serya snapped.

The scene was so familiar---Mother gave Jacob and Will the same admonishment on a daily basis---that Will grinned.

"Sorry, Mother," they chorused. They obediently kicked off the shoes and left them on the stones of the hearth. One child dashed into the tiny adjoining room. The second child—it might have been a boy---charged over to Serya and jumped into her lap, his back to Will. All that was visible with the cloak the boy wore was his hair.

Was it horse hair? Will must be seeing things.

"Will you help me feed the goat, mother? I don't want to go alone. He keeps trying to eat my leg," the boy whined.

Serya shook her head. "I think you can manage, Pieno. We have company."

Will knew his cue. "No, please. I really must go as around the docks, find out in which direction Jacob's run off this time." He retrieved his coat and Jacob's book. "Thank you for…taking care of the house."

"Thank Mr. Will for our home, child," Serya told her son.

The boy hid his face against her shoulder. Will heard a muffled chirp: "Thank you, Mr. Will."

"Pieno, get the necklace from the drawer…like the one we gave Mr. Jacob," Serya told the boy. The child hurried to obey. "I want you to wear it around your neck, Mr. Will, if you mean to set out on those waters. They're made unique for each family. The charm knows your bloodline and will protect it. Don't you make that face at me, young man, and don't you give me any argument. I insist."

"For you, Mr. Will." Pieno presented the cord and talisman to Will with a flourish. Will decided that, as with the beggar Lorelei, it was best to humor Serya than be subjected to a lecture. He accepted the pendant…and got his first glimpse of the child beneath the cloak…a child with skin made of wood, a head of horse's hair, and eyes painted onto a wooden face.

_That can't be…Serya's children…marionettes? Living, talking marionettes?_

Will managed to sit on the bench before, for the second time in as many days, Will's overtaxed nerves could stand no more shocks and darkness swallowed him into its depths again. He landed face-down on the table.

Undaunted, Pieno put his wooden fingers beneath Will's chin, lifted the unconscious man's head, and helpfully draped the cord and talisman around his neck.


	6. Chapter 6

AUTHOR'S NOTE: _I don't own the characters (Miramax does) or the fairy tales referenced in this story. I'm not making one single penny off this story. (pauses) I wouldn't mind borrowing the boys for awhile though…_

_1) This is rated TEEN for a reason. There are some very adult themes and situations and angst in here and some violence. It deals with rather dark issues relating to familial rifts and deaths of family members (if you saw the movie, you know to what I'm referring). Can't handle, please don't read. 2) Although there are religious references in the story, nothing is based on any real people or cults. They were completely fabricated for plot purposes and if you see similarities to any real people or cults, you are squinting way too hard, if you know what I mean. Do _not _try anything you see in this story, boys and girls, because it's all made up stuff. So, if anyone flames for reasons of dark themes or religious references, I'm going to ignore it because I've given fair warning. 3) The opinions expressed by characters do not reflect the opinion of this writer._ _See Chapter One for the rest of the notes._

**6**

In the spring and summer, the docks of Catriona were usually abuzz with fisherman, whalers, passenger boats, and traders' ships. With the approaching winter, the fog, and the foul weather, visits from these ships were becoming infrequent. That afternoon, most of the vessels docked in Catriona's port belonged to local fisherman, but a few larger ships were anchored farther out in the deeper water of the bay. Their crew mingled with the native population on the docks, conducting their business and visiting the local merchants.

Inquiring among the natives, the visiting crews, and then speaking to the Port Master, Will learned that Jacob had booked passage on a vessel called '_Adalia'_ that would stop in France and England before making berth in Scotland. The ship had departed only two days prior to Will's arrival, and Will cursed again the delay caused by his visit to Hollenstadt. Jacob had paid to sail all the way to Scotland, but the Port Master would not be sworn to saying Scotland was the young man's destination.

"Cheer up, sir. If he's off to Scotland, you might still beat him there," the Port Master was sympathetic. "If you can find a ship sailing nonstop to Scotland."

"Do you know of a boat heading that way?" Will asked him.

The Port Master checked his books, but found nothing scheduled. "There's a whaling ship coming in on the twelfth, sir. The captain's a genial sort. He'll take you on, and if you can't pay, I'm sure he'll let you barter labor for passage."

_Bad, wretched luck was getting nothing but worse._ "I can't wait two weeks," Will groused, more to himself than to the kindly Port Master. _For want of five days…_ Two weeks more, and Will would have no hope of intercepting Jacob…unless Will developed the sudden ability to sprout wings and fly across the sea himself.

As expected, asking among the crews of the few vessels in the port yielded no prospects for transport to Scotland or anyplace close to Scotland. So, Will sat down on a wooden bench outside the Port Master's office---frustrated and with no ideas for what he should do next. He watched the horizon for the arrival of any new ships until the last rays of daylight faded into another misty night, as if the weight of his stare would make a suitable ship appear.

Unconsciously, impatiently, he drummed his fingers on the cover of Jacob's book, which lay beside him on the bench, as he pondered the situation. Brooding would do no good, Will knew. He should return to the cottage and have proper rest. He could try again in the morning. But, Will could not bring himself to leave the harbor and return to the house. For one thing, he actively feared waking to find one of Serya's wooden puppet/children hovering over him. More importantly, absurd as it was, returning to the house was retreating. Jacob, the Altar des Feuer, and whatever peril his brother had gotten himself into were ahead of Will---somewhere across that damnable sea—not behind him.

Jacob had left on a boat five days ago. That meant, Will could safely assume that Jacob had not reached Scotland yet to (Will assumed) commence his search for that altar. His brother wouldn't be in peril (unless superstitious crewmen heard his stories or chanced upon the wand/blade and pitched Jacob overboard for fear he'd bring down a curse on their ship) until Jacob's feet his the shore. That eased Will's anxiety, but only a little. If Will couldn't find a way out of this port, Jacob wasn't going to stay alive very much longer. No, Will could not turn back, even for a few hours.

Therefore, he sat like a statue on that bench, wishing for ale, a warm bed, a warm female, wondering what in hell got into Jacob's mind, and wanting to be doing anything besides following this ridiculous errand for one more day.

Will's attention turned to the journal, still sealed with Serya's talisman. _Altar des Feuer._

He stared at the silk seal, sorely tempted to remove the binding, in spite of Serya's warnings, and see if the contents yielded a clue about Jacob's unfathomable reasons for this errand. But, Jacob had entrusted (Will didn't want to even think the word 'bequeathed') his prized possession to his brother's keeping. It felt like an invasion of Jacob's privacy to consider reading the journal. On the other hand, it was all but guaranteed that the 'Anhängers vom Messer des Feuer' could be found somewhere in that book. If nothing else, Will might gain some inkling of where to search for that altar should he fail to intercept Jacob at any of the ports along the way to Scotland.

Having justification and no other clear course of action, Will gave in to his own curiosity and untied the cord and talisman that held the book shut. An icy gust of wind howled with an almost human-sounding noise of protest. Lightning flashed on the dark horizon. He thought he heard Sister's voice murmur on that breeze. He frowned in defiance of the elements. "If you have a better idea, I'd be interested to hear it!" he shouted to the empty sky.

The breeze fell still and the sky quieted. _Didn't think so,_ Will smirked a bit.

The pages of the journal smells of age, ink, mold, smoke, of sweet and earthy scents like the roots Serya was drying…and of something else that Will couldn't put his finger on. Whatever it was, it set the hair on his neck on end and turned his blood to ice as he read the pages. Each page was filled, edge-to-edge, with Jacob's handwriting. Some pages even appeared to have been used and re-used on several separate occasions and Jacob ran out of space to write in the book---paragraphs of stories or research, for example, filling the center of the page and scribbles about completely unrelated subjects crammed into the margins. Not an inch of the journal's limited space was wasted.

Will could measure Jacob's enthusiasm for each subject by his handwriting: Subjects of great intrigue were jotted down in sprawling letters, as if Jacob's hands could barely keep pace with his racing mind to get the words onto the page. Matters to which his brother was giving close attention, analysis, and scrutiny were copied in small, neat printing to fit as much information as possible onto the page. The pattern held true even for entries clearly made when Jacob was only a child.

It wasn't the disorganized nonsense that Will had envisioned either. Jacob had copied entire collections of myths, fairy tales, legends, and other rubbish on pages made when he was a child up to pages made in his days as a scholar in Heidelberg. Most entries were the fodder believed only by superstitious simpletons. _What nonsense some people will take into their hearts_, Will mused as he flipped through the book. Jacob, however, had some talent for retelling these stories and legends, Will couldn't help but notice. It looked as if he'd even invented a few stories of his own. That surprised his brother. If the stories in the journal were an indication, Jacob could create tales so convincing that he might truly sell said 'simpletons' on the existence of any witch, warlock, or creature he concocted.

The beggar 'princess' of Hollenstadt, Lorelei, was one of the last entries in the journal. Jacob had imagined a fanciful tale of how the bearded woman was once a beautiful princess transformed into a monster for her selfish behavior. _Fanciful enough to make Lorelei believe it as well._ Will shook his head in amusement. Serya, the folklore of her nomadic people, and her wooden puppet children were mentioned many pages before Lorelei. A phrase written in what Will guessed was Latin, was noted on one of Serya's pages and had been labeled by Jacob: "An enchantment to animate the inanimate---works only on that which once had life (wood, grass, and related plant life is preferable)".

_To 'animate' Serya's wooden 'children' to run and play like real boys and girls no doubt_, Will scoffed mentally.

_Still, they had run and played like real children…_Will had no logical explanation for that display of magic, but he was sure he'd figure out Serya's trick sooner or later. Wooden puppets did not come to life, he knew that much.

Will turned to the next page and his smirk disappeared at once. There was Sister's face staring up at him from the page. Will jumped, half-thinking it was her angel poking its head out of the pages to scare him away from reading any farther. But, no, it was nothing more than a harmless quill and ink sketch. _You've read too many of Jake's stories, Will, _he chastised himself. _Did Jacob draw this picture_? _Well, of course he did, who else could it have been?_

Will found more sketches near the front of the book, in what he'd dubbed Jacob's "early years" section. His brother had sketched their Mother, with her kind but sad smile, and objects Will had to puzzle over before he identified them as his own 'inventions'. As a boy, Will had always tinkered---lanterns that would ignite with the press of a switch instead of with matches, padding for his arms and legs, a necessity when sledding with the other kids in the days when the family still lived in the mountains (landings tended to be rough with the rocky terrain), and many other creations that Will had long forgotten. Some were simply toys Will had built when money was too tight to purchase any. _I didn't know Jake paid any mind to them, he was always more interested in myth than in practical science._ Will had known Jacob watched him work on his devices, but it was always from a discreet distance. There were also entries on more personal subjects: Some of their Mother's favorite poems, lists of precise instructions Jacob was assigned around the cottage, red winter begonias, and so forth.

The drawing of Sister riveted Will. It was not Sister as the little girl that she'd been in life. This sketch mirrored the angelic vision Will had seen in his dream. _Jake saw her, too_. This confounded Will---this sketch was in the 'early years' section of the book, not among the more recent entries. The page was not loose, not new, had not been added or stuck in to the journal. Jacob had to have drawn this as a child. _Surely he didn't see Sister's ghost all those years ago? He was only a boy when he drew this…he had to have drawn it from his own imagination._

With that question unanswered, Will began to notice what he hadn't perceived in his first glance through the book: The entries prior to the drawing of Sister's 'ghost' were mundane, ordinary, childish things---the drawings of Will's inventions, the list of Mother's poems and favorite flowers, some harmless (and decidedly secular) stories Will and Jacob had created together during play before Sister's death drove a wedge between the two of them. After the page with Sister's specter, the entries changed. The mythology began. The fairy tales began. The legends, the rites, the mystical, the 'blasphemous'. There were even sketches of constellations with stories of the heroes for which they were named.

And there was an underlying theme to what Jacob had collected. He faintly recalled Jacob staying out after dark to watch the night sky until their Mother sent Will to fetch him. It was not random myths and folklore…everything he'd written centered on death, the afterlife, purgatory, and resurrection. The hero or heroine of each fable defeated death and brought his or her loved ones back from the afterlife. The rites Jacob had recorded were rituals meant to restore life after death.

It was in this section that Will found the scant entries related to "Anhänger vom Messer des Feuer" and a wand that could restore the dead.

_'The Altar des Feuer' rests at the center of the 'forest of stone'. Tradition of the cult held that the rocks' position was at a nexus of spiritual power that could be channeled by the blade that their heathen gods had gifted to Desdemond, their leader, to resurrect the dead. It was generally believed that this was done by offering a human sacrifice to the heathen gods in exchange for the life of the departed. There would be an inscription on the Altar reading: 'Life is purchased with death'. This seemed quite practical. If one meant to use the Messer des Feuer at the price of his or her mortal life, it would only be used for matters of supreme importance._

'_It is generally believed that the altar and the wand were destroyed by the priests who helped drive the Desdemondans out of Germany, leading to the eventual extinction of their cult. Most of the artifacts were lost, although some men who call themselves the Society broke from the church and are still dedicated to spending their lifetimes in quest to ensure that no artifacts remain even to this day. Expeditions to find any artifacts from this cult have been largely unsuccessful, to the point where some question whether Desdemond and his followers and their artifacts ever existed except in myth.'_

_Matters like bringing back the dead,_ Will filled in the blanks.

Jacob provided the answer with his second entry on the subject:

_'On holiday in the Scottish Hebrides, a scientist named Francois Penegrast noted a bizarre rock formation he chanced upon in his wandering around the islands. The rocks, he noted, were marked with symbols, which he was unable to reproduce upon his return to the mainland. Penegrast noted a large rock near the center of this formation and swears to have seen a stream of fire pour from this rock…fire that left no mark on the rock and did not burn the grass around the rock. This claim could not be substantiated by his fellow travelers, as they did not witness the phenomenon. Efforts to take a closer look at the formations resulted in cataclysmic rockslides that deterred them from pressing up the mountain where the rocks were located. Their story was dismissed by all persons of authority, including scholars, due to the fact that most of the companions had been drinking heavily prior to and during this alleged event and Penegrast was never able to find the island again. The accounts for why the incident was never recorded but was passed along as folklore by word of mouth. Penegrast believed the island was located at the…_

The final page with the location, naturally, had been torn out. That was flatly unusual for Jacob. Every page of his book was nearly sacred. He clearly didn't want Will to know where he was going if he ever did wind up with possession of the journal.

It didn't matter---Will could stand to read no more. He closed the book as the awful impact of what his brother had written shocked him. _Leave it to Jacob to make hokum sound like scientific reasoning._ _To make it perfectly logical to find the blade of fire, sacrifice yourself to fix a mistake…such as fetching magic beans instead of a doctor for you dying sister. Complete rot and rubbish----- unless you believe in rot and rubbish like Jacob does._

This was Jacob's life work. This was the reason he buried himself in the mystical and set off to study in the larger cities like Heidelberg. His brother was going to get himself killed…commit suicide in essence…on an insane hypothesis that he could save Sister.

"_What he's always done for me, Will,"_ Sister had said.

"_Mr. Jacob's trying to exorcise his ghosts. I guess you're running from yours. I wonder if it's the same ghosts driving both of you…"_ Serya had said.

Another gust of wind howled.

Will hadn't known---how could he? Jacob closed off whenever he was confronted about his fascination with the mystical world. He guarded his book as if his life depended on it…and now Will knew why. He had wondered, of course he had, more times than he could remember how Jacob felt about his mista---about their Sister's death, but he hadn't known. Hard as it was to admit to himself, Will had assumed, like everyone else around them, that his brother's descent into his own world of fairy tales and mythology was owed to being…er, well, not altogether right in the head.

Will had been angry with his brother since Sister's death. He hadn't tried to imagine his brother's point of view. Jacob understood the mystical and spiritual…naturally he'd dive into it with all his mind, would devote himself whole-heartedly, in the belief that it would yield a way to undo his mistake. _And he thinks he's found his way. _In the meanwhile, he saved as many 'damsels in distress' as he could: Lorelei, Serya, and who knew how many others.

Penances. Redemption.

"_No sleeping on the docks_!"

This time, Will did let out an involuntary yelp of surprise. Fully occupied with the book and without the benefit of sunlight to cast shadows, Will hadn't seen the man walk over and stop to stand over him. The wind and the crash of the surf must have drowned out the man's footsteps as he'd approached Will.

Reflexively, Will raised the book like a shield against the stranger before he regained his composure. The man was nothing but a harmless old fisherman, judging by his clothing and the stink of fish on his clothing, and not the least bit threatening…nevertheless, there was no point letting him pry into personal matters. Hurriedly, Will wrapped the cord around Jacob's book to bind it shut and tucked the journal under his arm for safekeeping. He didn't believe the wooden talisman was 'keeping evil spirits in or out' of the book, but he had a feeling Serya would make his life hell if she happened along and found the pendant and cord missing. That was the only reason Will still wore the talisman someone in the cottage had hung around his neck while he was unconscious.

"I'm not sleeping, as you can plainly see," Will pointed out. "I'm sitting."

"Ain't seen you in town before. You lost?" the white-haired man grunted.

"No."

"Waiting on a boat? There's no boats 'til morning if yer waiting for a boat," the fisherman persisted.

Will resisted the impulse to point out that the fisherman must have arrived by boat, so therefore boats _were_ still arriving. Was this man angling for the Port Master's job? He wished the old man would go on his way. The fisherman's stare was almost as unnerving as Serya's wooden 'children'. "Then I shall be sitting for a long while."

Seconds ticked by, then the stranger asked: "Which way are you heading?"

Will was not at all sure he wanted the man to know. "Paris," he lied. "As quickly as possible."

The fisherman blinked. He'd been staring at the talisman around Will's neck, and the man's lips curled downward at the site of it. "You aren't a purveyor of the dark arts? Witchcraft?"

"Certainly not!" Will tucked the pendant beneath his shirt, out of the man's sight.

"Preacher?"

Will wondered how long a list of questions he'd have to answer before the man would leave him be. "No."

The man raised an eyebrow. "Don't believe in curses do you?"

"It's astonishing how many times I've had to answer questions like that this week," Will sighed and tried to anticipate any more questions the man could ask for the sake of ending this conversation. "No, I do not believe in curses, fables, folklore, witchcraft, myth, legend, haunted seas, magic wands, celestial nexuses, or bearded princesses…and I'm sure I'll find a logical explanation for walking marionettes."

The fisherman remained stoic, ignoring what must have sounded like an incoherent rant. "Best you do believe in all that," he warned, pointing his finger at Will's chest, where the talisman still hung. "Sailors do. No one's going to board you on no boat with that on your neck…or carrying that book of yours, friend. No one wants bad luck on his ship. No one wants passengers who talk about luck or omens, neither."

_In that case, I needn't worry about reaching Scotland…I'll probably find Jacob treading water in the sea somewhere between here and the Adalia's next port._ "Thank you for the advice. I'll be sure to keep the charm concealed," Will attempted again to dismiss the stranger.

The man lapsed into another silence. Entirely frustrated now, Will was about to make his excuses and get as far away as possible when the fisherman made a noise by sucking air through what was left of his teeth. "Suppose if we don't take you on, you'll be sitting on this dock 'til Judgment Day."

Will didn't know if that offer was a Godsend or not. It was a chance, however slim, of reaching Scotland and the altar before Jacob, but something about the fellow still made his skin crawl. Then again, something in everything that had happened in his life for the last two weeks made his skin crawl. Surely he wasn't thinking of rowing to Scotland in that small craft of his? " ' We'?" Will asked.

"Got a whaling boat anchored out in the bay," the man gestured toward the harbor, but fog and darkness still concealed whatever vessels floated out there.

And then, with his next words, the stranger finally provided Will with a sound reason for his apprehension: "On our way back to Russia. We can drop you where you can get a lift to Paris easy enough…if you've got to get to your brother."

There was only one problem with the offer: Will hadn'tmentioned having a brother much less needing to get to him He began backing away from the man at once. "Thank you, no…"

Will broke off, mid-sentence, as his eye was drawn to something beside the man's rowboat. The mist receded for an instant, allowing moonlight to shine on the dark waters, and Will saw a shape floating beside the craft. It looked like cloth. He thought it might be a bag fallen into the harbor…until a wave picked up the object and rolled it over. Something fish-belly white glistened in the moonlight…

…it was a head. A bloated head, its skin pale with death, protruded from the clothing that Will had mistaken from a bag. The waves rolled the limp and lifeless body toward the beach.

Will did the only thing he could think of: He screamed.

The fisherman glanced at the body floating beside his rowboat and scrunched up his own face, as if the corpse had inconvenienced him. "Don't fret. He won't be coming to Paris with us, Mr. Grimm."

Will tried to bolt, but the man made a grab for him. He fended off the stranger with the only weapon he had: Jacob's heavy book. The stranger's groping hand connected with the cover of the journal and Serya's talisman came to life. The wind kicked up once more. Lightning, of sorts, crackled along the silken cords and coalesced at the charm before shooting outward to envelope the arm that had touched the book. The fisherman howled as his skin was burned and stumbled away from Will.

Will didn't care what had happened---magic or Divine intervention---or how; he seized the opportunity for escape and fled. _Who was that man? What was he after? The book? Will? How did he know about Jacob? How did he know Will? Did it matter?_

There was a loud whistle that seemed to emanate from the injured 'fisherman' behind Will. At the call, two more men appeared from behind the Port Master's office. "Don't touch 'im! And don't touch the book!" the 'fisherman' yelled to them. "Damn talisman 'round them is cursed!"

Will didn't intend to let these men get close enough to grab either his pendant or Jacob's book, but he'd spied the new attackers too late. One had an oar in his hands and swung it right at Will's head. Will feinted aside, but was only fast enough to avoid the worst of the strike. His attacker landed a glancing blow across his temple. It didn't render him unconscious, but it stunned Will sufficiently.

Will staggered, fighting blackness at the edge of vision to remain conscious, and then the trio was upon him. The two newcomers emerged from the shadows, flanking Will. One produced a knife and cut the cord around Will's throat. He watched, completely helpless, as the pendant fell into the sand. Will wrapped his arms around the book with what strength he had, covering the talisman that protected it. He wasn't sure why, but something told him to do everything he could to keep the journal out of their reach. They grabbed his arms and tried to pry them apart, but Will would not budge---he couldn't if he wanted to: His brain would not connect with his limbs despite the desperation to fight back. His arms were locked around the book and it was beyond Will or his attackers' powers to pull the journal free.

"Never mind it!" the 'fisherman' ordered his cohorts.

The trio got a grip on Will's unmoving arms and legs. He could only watch with a complete sense of detachment from his body as they dragged him swiftly down the shore to the waiting rowboat. The 'fisherman' used the oar to push the floating body away from craft while the other two dumped Will into the boat. Will heard the men speaking to each other, but to his still-sluggish and dazed brain, the words were gibberish.

Lying flat on his back at the bottom of the boat, Will felt the bob of the small craft and heard the splash of waves slapping its hull. He couldn't make his body obey his mind to do so much as turn his head. He could only stare straight up as mist and stars moved across his field of vision.

_Stars_. _Constellations._ Will knew those constellations. Where did he know them from?

_Jacob._

_"Jacob! Come in! Will, fetch your brother! It's dark out."_

_Will hadn't appreciated having to round up his brother---again. He pulled on his coat and scarf against the night air and poked his head out the door. He snatched up a lantern and shined it into the gloom outside. It still took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. "Jake!" he shouted, seeing no sign of his sibling._

_"Will, I said go out and fetch him," Mother ordered._

_The boy made a face---taking care that she didn't see it---and ventured out onto the deserted street. "Jake!" No answer._

_Will was sure he knew where his brother had gone: The stone fence down the street from their cottage. It had been Jacob's favorite hiding place since the family had moved to Catriona. It was well within earshot of the house, when Jacob's concentration on his book didn't make him deaf and blind to the world around him. Sure enough, Will found Jacob there. His younger brother was perched atop the fence. He had a candle in one hand, a quill in the other, and his book was open on his lap. Jacob was scribbling furiously by the candle's meager light. He alternated his gaze between the sky, bright with stars in the absence of moonlight, and jotting down whatever he was writing in his journal._

_"Mum's calling you," Will crossed his arms tightly around his chest against the cold air. With one hand, he raised the lantern so he could see his brother's reaction._

_As expected, Jacob didn't so much as blink in answer._

_"You'll ruin your eyes," Will added._

_Jacob glanced sidelong at his brother, then continued with what he was doing. Will knew this game. There was only one way to get Jacob down off that wall. He walked over to the fence, took hold of Jacob's book with his free hand, and tried to tug the journal out of his brother's hands._

That_ won Jacob's attention. With a squeal of indignation, Jacob fought back and a tug-of-war ensued. One strong yank from Will tore the book away from his brother. In the process, Jacob was dislodged from his perch and fell to the ground. Will swore to himself---if Jacob hurt himself, Will would catch hell from their Mother---and, tucking the book beneath one arm, offered his brother a hand up. "You hurt yourself?"_

_Sullen, Jacob refused Will's help and climbed to his feet on his own. He retrieved the candle that had fallen with him._

_"Did you hurt yourself?" Will asked more sharply._

_"Give me my book!" Jacob snapped in answer._

_Sighing, Will raised his lantern to check for himself. He couldn't see too well with its faint light, but Jacob didn't appear to have any injuries or scraps or signs of blood. He shoved the book back into Jacob's hands. "What are you doing anyway?" Will didn't know why he'd asked. It had to be more of his brother's nonsense. He just felt like he should do something nice to make up for causing that fall._

_Jacob still sulked. "Nothing."_

_"You're doing something. What did you write?" Will tried to nudge his brother in the direction of the house. Jacob was intent on making sure his book hadn't been damaged in the tussle._

_"I was drawing the stars," he finally answered._

_That was new. Will was surprised. When did Jacob develop and interest in the stars? Was he planning to go into fortune-telling along with ghost stories now? _

_"See?" Jacob pointed to the sky. "That's Hercules. He fought a sea monster and married a princess. That's Pegasus, his horse. It had wings, so it could fly…"_

_"A flying horse? You have strange ideas, Jake."_

_Irritated with his brother's ignorance, Jacob corrected him: "It's Greek mythology. It's not strange."_

_If Will argued, he'd never get Jacob into the house, and his fingers were already getting numb from the cold air. He humored his brother by glancing at the stars for himself. "Doesn't look like anything but a bunch of lights. Where do you see a horse?"_

_Something lit up in Jacob's eyes. Will could see the spark---enthusiasm?---even by the lantern's faint glow. His brother plopped down right where he'd been standing and opened his book to the pages he'd been using a minute ago. He grabbed Will's coat sleeve and tugged his brother to kneel beside him. _

_"See?" Jacob pointed to the pattern of dots he'd sketched. He traced lines lightly between the dots, until they connected to form the vague outline of a winged horse. "Pegasus!" Jacob finished with a flourish. Below the dots, he had neatly copied the story of Pegasus._

_Will was surprised by his own interest in Jacob's project. He pointed to another cluster of dots. "What's this one that looks like a 'W'?"_

_"Cassiopia. The queen." Jacob traced it. "She's on her throne, see?"_

_"And this 'Orion'---?"_

_"Boys!" Mother called from the house._

_"In a minute, please, Mother?" both boys called back to her._

Hands grabbed Will by his arms and legs again and hauled him from the rowboat. With much effort, he managed to turn his head just a bit to see that he was being hefted up the side of a much larger ship. Was it a whaling ship? Will couldn't tell. He could see the female figurehead carved into the front of the vessel, but nothing else of the ship.

More of the mystery men were waiting to lug the semi-conscious Will over the side and dragged him along the deck. Their voices, distorted and distant (more like echoes in Will's disoriented brain), were beginning to speak in words Will could understand…or else his daze was beginning to release its grip on him.

"…waiting for him…below…"

"…can't touch…damn…shocked me…"

_Shock. Lightning._ Yes, Will had seen lightning. Where? _Jake's book. Serya's pendant._

_Jake's book._

Panic strengthened his need to fight off the stupor that subdued him. _Where's Jacob's book!_ Will forced himself to move his head again, searching…and saw that it was still there. He'd managed to hang on to it despite having no faculties or control over his limbs at the moment. His fingers had seized the journal in a death grip, and his abductors were reluctant to try to take it from him after watching their friend get burned.

Will was being carried along the deck, past men who rushed to prepare the ship to make way. Dark stains splattered the deck, he observed in his state of detachment. Blood? He didn't know. Then, he was being shoved down a ladder, through compartments dimly illuminated by lanterns, and then down more ladders. The ship stank of grease, waste, unwashed bodies, bilge water, blood, and rot until Will nearly vomited. He heard the squeak of metal, the bang of a hatch being opened, and then he was falling…no, his captors had dropped him.

He'd recovered the motor control to let out a grunt as he landed. Mustering his strength, Will turned his head and squinted into the gloom. He might be in a cargo hold of some sort. Still more men were waiting in this new compartment, and they swiftly shackled Will's hands while still avoiding contact with the book. Then, the dark shapes of his abductors lumbered up the ladder, out of the room, and slammed the hatch closed above him, leaving him alone…

…No, not alone. Three other prisoners lay sprawled across the decking, motionless as----Will swallowed hard---as the dead. Blood marred their skin and clothing and the blankets draped over them. These were bodies; were they prisoners or the real crew of this vessel murdered by the men who'd abducted him? They'd been dumped like refuse. Two lay in heaps; one looked to have died shackled to the wall across from Will.

"Well, then…it seems he was wrong…big brother did come searching…admit I wasn't expecting….so soon."

The voice was male, and a male with a British accent. Will concentrated with all his might on working the fog from his brain. He peered into the dark room and spotted another human shape, this one standing in the corner of the hold not very far from the corpses. The British shadow moved closer to Will.

Will had been expecting another burly lout, like the muscular abductors, but there was nothing vaguely sinister or intimidating about the man who stepped into the lantern light. He was a full four inches shorter than Will, lanky, with curly and receding brown hair, a wide face, and large green eyes. He was dressed in an immaculate suit, as if headed to a social dinner instead of sailing out to sea in a boat full of kidnappers and dead bodies. There wasn't even a grain of dirt on his clothing or beneath his nails.

The man noticed the bruise forming on Will's temple and frowned at it. "Tsk…look what they've done…apologies for that…get a bit carried away…love their work." He knelt in front of Will, sizing up the younger man. He glanced at the book, but kept his hands a safe distance from it. "So, you're…Wilhelm Grimm? What a privilege to finally meet you. My name is Gerit Torsten."

Shackled, Will couldn't shake hands, so Torsten had to nod a greeting instead.

It was with all his concentration that Will's brain made his mouth finally work: "…want?…"

Torsten figured out the one-word question. "…very simple…answer…you live…want the _Altar_ _des Feuer_…altar of fire."


	7. Chapter 7

AUTHOR'S NOTE: _I don't own the characters (Miramax does) or the fairy tales referenced in this story. I'm not making one single penny off this story. (pauses) I wouldn't mind borrowing the boys for awhile though…_

_1) This is rated TEEN for a reason. There are some very adult themes and situations and angst in here and some violence. It deals with rather dark issues relating to familial rifts and deaths of family members (if you saw the movie, you know to what I'm referring). Can't handle, please don't read. 2) Although there are religious references in the story, nothing is based on any real people or cults. They were completely fabricated for plot purposes and if you see similarities to any real people or cults, you are squinting way too hard, if you know what I mean. Do _not _try anything you see in this story, boys and girls, because it's all made up stuff. So, if anyone flames for reasons of dark themes or religious references, I'm going to ignore it because I've given fair warning. 3) The opinions expressed by characters do not reflect the opinion of this writer._ _See Chapter One for the rest of the notes._

**7**

Time had ceased to have meaning.

With no windows in the cargo hold where Will was imprisoned, there was no way to tell when night ended and day began. Will didn't know if minutes or hours had passed since he'd been tossed into this dismal place. 'Gerit Torsten' gave not the slightest impression of being hurried, impatient, or frustrated. He only sat in the room, facing Will, and waited until his prisoner regained a semblance of control over his wits. He needed his injured prisoner to be coherent for this conversation.

Having figured this out, Will stalled a bit, despite having shaken off the worst of the effects of the blow to his temple. He stared straight ahead, keeping his eyes focused on a knot in one of the wooden planks, hoping doing so would make his gaze appear glassy and dazed. There was no point looking around for an escape route---he had no way out of his bindings. If he did manage to squirm free of the shackles, get past Torsten, open a hatch that was without a doubt barred from the other side, and if luck got him to the main deck after all of those small miracles, where would he go? Whether they'd been at sea for hours or days, Will knew there was nothing around the ship but water in every direction now. He'd never be able to guess which way to swim to find land or how far he was from the shore.

No, he wasn't stalling in misguided hopes of escape. He was stalling to prolong his last few hours of life.

The men who had abducted him were murderers. They had shoved aside that floating corpse as if it were nothing but a nuisance. Gerit Torsten was probably a murderer as well, at the very least he was a man who didn't shrink from violence. Torsten had been sharing this hold with three corpses since Will had arrived and wasn't affected in the least.

They were also searching for the altar, just like Jacob. When they found it, what use would there be in keeping Will alive?

Worse, if they found Jacob at the altar, they were sure to kill him as well. They didn't strike Will as the type of men who shared their treasure, after all.

Will also stalled to ponder Torsten's cryptic comment: _It seems he was wrong…big brother did come searching._ 'He' who? Jacob was involved, no question, if they were speaking of Will as 'big brother'---but the implications of the remark worried him…why was anyone debating about the chances of Jacob's 'big brother' coming to look? Looking for what? For Jacob? What else could it be? What happened to Jacob that anyone wondered if Will would come looking? _If Torsten or his friends have done something to----_

"The altar is not in Paris."

Torsten had made the remark. He'd been brooding, waiting, staring at the blanket-shrouded corpse propped against the wall as if it might come back to life at any minute and speak to him. Now, he kneeled once more in front of his living prisoner. "The altar is not in Paris, and you've been stalling for an hour at least, Mr. Grimm. I'm sorry, but we really need to resume our conversation now."

The delaying was clearly over now. Will resigned himself to finding another way to prolong his own life. "I'm not in a conversing spirit," he said sardonically. "I might be of better humor if you'd unlock these shackles."

Torsten didn't laugh, but he seemed amused by that. "We'll see." He glanced again at the book in Will's hands. "I know something of the Altar des Feuer. Not everything…not its secrets, certainly not its biggest secret---its location, that is. But, I do know that Desdemond preferred mountainous terrain for his shrines, so the altar wouldn't be in the city of Paris. Is it in France, perhaps?"

"If I had an inkling of what an 'Altar des Friars' or a 'Desdemond' was, I might be able to answer that. As it stands, I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about." Will put all the conviction he could into the lie.

Torsten smiled like a father about to outsmart a fibbing child. "I know your brother had too much fondness for myths involving death. I know the charm that cooked poor Jorn's arm and prevents anyone not of Grimm blood from opening that book comes from a friendly family of gypsies. I know that a map showing the precise location of the Altar des Feuer is in that book." Torsten watched Will's reaction. The younger man couldn't disguise his shock. "And I know it's killing you wanting to know how I know. So, let's cut the games, Will."

Gerit's accurate description of the journal only amplified Will's fears. _So, that's what was on the page Jacob tore out. A map. Will might have guessed as much. _ This man knew Jacob, all right. Knew him well enough that Jacob had either trusted him with information about the book---and Jacob rarely trusted anyone with his book---or had forced information about the book from Jacob. Will's hands balled into fists at the possibility.

"You've abducted me, shackled me, and dragged me here to ask about that altar. You'd have killed me and taken the book for yourself if you could have, but your friend obviously warned you off trying," Will's voice was deceptively calm for the fury that welled in his heart. "If the location is what's keeping you from killing me---as I suspect it is---I'd have to be thick-headed to tell you, wouldn't I? Perhaps we should return to the Port Master's office and see if the information presents itself there," Will answered.

Torsten almost seemed to approve of the younger man's resistance. "You've much in common with your brother, Will. You're both sharp and bloody hard to catch. But I see the brothers Grimm have something in common besides intelligence and elusiveness---you're as stubborn as your brother was, too."

_Was_?

"You're brother was a particular headache, I must tell you," Gerit went on.

Will didn't care for the sounds of that. _What does he mean 'was'?_

"After our mutual friend, Traugott, sent a message by carrier bird that Jacob was on his way here, we barely beat him to Catriona. I'd hoped he'd show up with that book," Torsten elucidated.

_Traugott? How did he know---_? Will wondered. Wait…at the boarding house, the priest had caught Will reading Jacob's letter:

"_So you've decided to read it finally. Good news, is it?" _

"_No…well yes…of a sort. It seems I could have saved myself the ride to your fair village if I'd only read it beforehand. Jacob heard that our Mother was ill and wrote that he was going back to Catriona to visit her. So, I've disturbed all of your good people and spent a month's earnings for nothing."_

"He almost slipped past us, too. Then when we did find him, of course…he had no book and we had no idea where he'd hidden it. So, you came along at a fortunate time. We've had to wait for you a few days, but that's time well spent---here you are, and there it is." Torsten arched his eyebrow at the book in Will's hands. "We'd planned to just take the book from you, but our unfortunate fellow showed us the folly of that plan. Poor Jorn's arm won't be the same again, but it worked out for the best. Here I'd be with the book and no way to read it. And I'd hate to lose my chance at the altar after the trouble I went to finding this…" Torsten reached into the pocket of his immaculate brown coat and withdrew an object Will recognized at once despite never having laid eyes on it.

It was a long bundle wrapped in sackcloth and tied with a silk cord. Gerit untied the cord and uncovered the object, revealing to be precisely what Will feared it would be.

_Messer des Feuer_. The blade of fire.

Jacob'd had the wand/knife, Will knew. If Torsten had it, he had taken it from Jacob, and Torsten couldn't have taken it without a fight----or without killing him. And Will, however inadvertently, had led these men right to his brother.

Heedless of the men waiting outside the hold, forgetting his bindings, Will let go of the book and lunged at Torsten, wanting nothing so much as to wrap his hands around the man's throat and wring his brother's whereabouts out of the bastard. The shackles held Will back, and his bruised temple rewarded his sudden movements with a wave of nausea.

Still kneeling, Gerit had only to lean back to stay out of Will's grasp. "That's a waste of effort, Mr. Grimm, but you've got more fight than I expected."

"If you've done anything to my brother, I will kill you," Will vowed.

It was an empty threat, he knew. The first shock of grief made his very soul cry out for revenge, to break out of his bonds and kill as many of these men as he could before they stopped him. If they'd killed his brother, the last family Will had in the world, what the hell else did he have to lose by trying? But, his bonds were solid iron. He'd have to chew off his hands to get out of the shackles. Powerless to do anything but imagine violent ends to Torsten and every man with him, Will's rage slowly spent itself. In its place, the most horrible, numbing sense of being completely, utterly alone settled over him.

Torsten stared again at the book Will had released in his futile assault, but still dared not touch the journal. Will picked up the journal and tucked it behind him, so that it was between his back and the wooden walls of the hold. If Torsten meant to take it, he'd have to move within reach of Will's fists to do so---and Will would take great pleasure in drawing as much blood from the man as he could before Gerit laid a finger on the journal. Torsten understood the unspoken challenge and nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Ah, concerned at how I came into possession of this?" Torsten asked, holding out the blade and taking his own time studying the object, drawing out Will's torment for his own amusement. "So much concern, and yet Traugott was under the impression you and your brother haven't spoken for years. In fact, he seemed to think you were rather---what shall we call it----'embarrassed' by your brother's flights of fancy, by his 'blundering into subjects that he shouldn't.' He even thinks you might be angry with your brother about something, but that's between the both of you." Torsten watched Will's eyes for reaction to his baiting. Will resolved that his abductor would see nothing but hate and rage.

Will kept silent.

Something devious brought a sparkle into Torsten's stare. "Jacob tells me that you'd never come searching for him. What an odd thing for a brother to think. I wonder what would make him believe that?"

_"Ow!"_

_Mother tsked. "Stop squirming, then."_

_"But it hurts!" Ten-year-old Jacob had complained._

_"Of course it hurts. It's most likely broken." The words were a reprimand, but the rebuke didn't quite reach her gentle tone. The fact that she was holding a handkerchief to the broken nose of her youngest child made her angry, but not with the boy himself. She was angry at the older, larger boys who had ambushed her child—whatever the provocation---and caused his injury. She also had a scolding glare to spare for her older son, who stood nearby with an expression somewhere between contrite and sour. "And where were you when this was happening?" she asked Will._

_Will was surprised by the question. Was she actually mad at _him_? It wasn't his fault his brother was a fool. "I didn't do it!"_

_"I didn't say you did. I know it was that Hap boy and his friends. I asked where you were. You're supposed to keep an eye on your brother, you know that," Mother reminded him._

_"I was…fishing." It was a lie and Will knew that she'd see through it._

_"Fishing?" She made a point of glancing in the direction of his unused fishing pole, which was propped in the corner of the room. With a sigh, she gestured for Jacob to take her place holding the handkerchief to his nose. "We'll have to have a doctor look at you. Go clean up, Jacob. Wash your face, change your shirt…" She would have to wash his soiled shirt, for the boys only had two changes of clothes each. At least Jacob had been wearing his work clothes instead of his church clothes. "…and no more magic tricks outside of this house."_

_Will was in favor of that idea. "Thank God…" he grumbled under his breath._

_Jacob knew doctors were expensive. "But I'm all right---"_

_"Jacob, do as I say," Mother said sharply. He obeyed at once, darting as fast as he could while having to walk with his head tilted back in deference to his bleeding nose, into the other room and closing the door behind him._

_Mother turned to face Will now, her hands on her hips, all trace of the gentleness she'd shown while treating Jacob's injury now vanished. "You'll be doing all Jake's chores until he's healed up---that's your punishment for lying to me, Will. Tell me where you really were or you'll do his chores for the next three months. Did you see those boys beating your brother?"_

_Will knew better than to answer. Chores were bad enough without a switch across his rear to add to his misery._

_She guessed the answer. "And you did nothing?_

_In fact, he had---but only after Jacob had limped home, oblivious to his older brother's presence. Will had clobbered Hap and his friends until the sight of their noses bleeding had finally satisfied his anger. Then they'd reminded him what a freakish, insane baby brother Will had. That had hurt. It had kindled the embarrassment Will already felt over his brother's eccentricities._

_"Why?"_

_"He never fights back. He needs to learn to throw some punches in his own defense if he's going to scandalize people with the rubbish he says." Will hadn't intended to answer truthfully, but the words had been spoken and there was something quite liberating about getting that off his chest. "He can't act that way around people! I don't want to be chased out of our home again. If he's going to behave like a fool…."_

_"He's ten years old, Will---"_

_"…then he can accept the consequences of his behavior."_

_"You're supposed to---" Mother's arms were crossed, her signal that he had gone too far. Will didn't care at this point._

_"I don't want him following me around, embarrassing me! Why is he my responsibility! I'm ashamed to be seen with him. All he does is write in his book and every time he opens his mouth, drivel comes out!" the boy fired back._

_"He's your family, Will. I suppose that shames you as well?" There was something sad in her tone when Mother asked that question and Will's temper suddenly abandoned him. _

_He wasn't ready to calm down yet. Floundering a bit, having no good answer, he fell back on one familiar accusation: "It's his fault that…"_

_Mother stamped her foot now. "I know what you blame him for and I've heard it enough! I won't hear another word about it…especially not from you, Will."_

_Will obediently let the accusation pass unsaid. Sulking, he started to mutter, "I wish that he…" but when he caught the warning glare on his mother's face, as if she knew what he was thinking, Will didn't dare finish the thought. What had he been about to say, anyway? That he wished it had been his foolish brother and not Sister who had gotten that fever so many years ago? Will knew he should be ashamed that such a thought—however fleeting—had crossed his mind._

_He turned away from his Mother only to see the lamplight pouring from beneath the door to the boys' room flicker as a shadow moved past it. He knew that Jake had been listening to the exchange---he always listened. Well, that was fine. If Jake had heard what Will said, it served him right. Even if Will hadn't meant it… _

Will's attention was drawn suddenly back to the present conversation. _What had Torsten just said? Did he say 'Jacob _tells_ me'?_

"You're angry and you're embarrassed, and yet you spend the better part of a month charging from one end of Germany to the other searching for Jacob. That's odd, don't you think? Blood is blood, I suppose----"

Torsten had glanced away from Will for a moment. When he turned back to his captive, he was caught badly off-guard to see that Will's hateful, defeated glare had been replaced by a malevolent grin. Faster than his abductor would have thought possible, Will kicked the kneeling man beneath the chin. Gerit's head snapped back with a 'crack' that brought his prisoner great satisfaction.

Will wasn't finished with him yet. "'_Tells'_!" His hands might be bound, but his legs were free, and Will used them to catch Torsten around the neck and began squeezing the man's neck shut as effectively as if he were using his hands instead of his shins. "'_Tells'_, not '_told'_? You've been so careful to speak of Jake as the dearly departed until now." Will moved his legs to twist the man's neck a bit. "_Where's my brother_!"

Torsten attempted to extricate himself from Will's stranglehold on his neck, until he realized the futility of his effort. In one deft movement, he raised the wand/knife, unsheathed the weapon, and depressed one of the symbols etched into the handle. Light poured forth in the shape of a blade, cutting across Will's right leg as effectively as metal slicing his skin. Pain like fire shot up his leg and spread through Will's body until it felt as if he were being burned alive. Howling with agony, Will immediately released his captive and clutched at his injured limb. The wound was the smallest of cuts, but that did nothing to ease the sensation of fire on every inch of his skin. He concentrated on forcing himself to breathe, trying to focus on anything besides the pain.

Scrambling to his feet, Torsten moved well away from Will this time. He rubbed at his bruised neck, all traces of humor gone from his features. "I was right, you are as smart as your brother," he wheezed. Regaining his composure following his own painful mistake, Torsten straightened his rumpled coat, smoothed back his curly hair, and resumed with the questions. "Tell me where to find the Altar des Feuer, and I'll tell you where to find Jacob."

Blinking back tears that had formed unbidden at the pain of the burn, Will glowered at his captor. "Since it seems that the location is all that's keeping me _and_ Jacob alive," he got the words out between gasps, "I'll say again: Take me back to shore and the information might present itself there."

Torsten walked across the small hold and paused beside the corpses. He pressed a button on the Messer's handle and the light changed to a full metal blade. Staring at the bodies, he asked, "I wonder, Will, if I were to put this blade to your brother's neck and offered not to cut his throat in exchange for the altar, do you think 'the information might present itself' _then_?"

Will didn't answer.

Gerit nodded. "Let's find out."

He took hold of the blanket covering the seated body and tugged it away. Will flinched, almost closing his eyes---the sight of that bloodied, bloated corpse in the harbor still fresh in his mind---until the covering fell away to reveal not a dead body but Jacob.

It took only seconds to recognize him, but—despite the shorter hair, the beard, the glasses, and other changes from the lanky teenager he'd been when they last spoke into the adult he was now----Will knew it was him. Jacob was battered, sporting a blackened eye and several cuts on his arms that matched the one on Will's leg, and he was shackled and gagged so that he couldn't have moved beneath that blanket or uttered a word if he'd tried, but he was very much alive. It was difficult to see in the semi-darkness, but Will definitely saw the rise and fall of his brother's chest as Jacob breathed.

A prayer of gratitude was on Will's lips, but he dared not let his thankfulness at finding his sibling alive elicit so much as a blink of his eyes while Torsten was there. That long-dormant protective instinct flared anew, and Will dearly wished to repay their abductor for Jacob's every welt, mark, and bruise in kind.

When Torsten grabbed him by the back of the neck and shook him back to lucidity, Jacob blinked with his good eye against the faint light and squinted at both Gerit and Will. When he saw his brother chained opposite him, Jacob's good eye widened in shock. He tried to say something around the gag in his mouth, but stopped when Torsten used his grip to yank Jacob's head back and pressed the Messer to his throat.

"I believe your precise words were: 'Will's the last one coming to look for me', that I should kill you and be done with it," Torsten taunted Jacob. "Are you a poor guesser or just a poor liar, Jacob?" With that, the blade's sharp edge nicked Jacob's skin and a single drop of red splattered the captive's already bloodied shirt. Jacob muffled a groan at the feeling of fire consuming him from the inside out.

Will lashed out, a useless gesture as Torsten was well out of his reach. It was the reaction their captor had hoped for. He whirled to face Will again, keeping the blade to Jacob's throat. "There now, Will, don't take this personally. It's not about you or your brother. I'm charged with the destruction of the Desdemondian artifacts, most especially the altar and the Messer des Feuer. If this is what I have to do to make you see reason, I'm well prepared to sacrifice young Jacob here---pardon the expression."

Will tried to keep Torsten's attention on him before he tried to spill more of Jacob's blood to make his point. "There's an empty threat if I've heard one, Torsten. If Jacob were expendable, you'd have killed him by now. You're obviously afraid you won't be able to find the altar without his help, so you brought me here hoping to make him talk. And since you and the good Father Traugott have to eliminate all traces of the Desdemondians, you'll have to kill me and Jacob to destroy our knowledge of them and their artifacts. We can expect to be dead as soon as you have the altar. You can't offer us our lives, therefore you're negotiating with nothing to trade, Torsten."

Will was taking a risk baiting the man and he knew it. For one thing, Will didn't know the location of the altar should the gamble not pay off. He only hoped Torsten's need to find the altar would be greater than the impulse to kill one (or both) of them for lack of anything to lose. Will wanted to find a way to convince the man that he and Jacob were vital to the success of Torsten's mission at best. At worst, he hoped to forestall any further abuse of himself or his brother.

Torsten wasn't a bit perturbed. He jerked the hand gripping the blade just an inch, and Will jumped despite the bravado of his words before he saw that the motion hadn't cut Jacob's throat. Gerit sneered, satisfied, and returned his attention to Jacob.

"You're a scholar, I hear. Yes? You must be fond of puzzles as well to suss out the Messer des Feuer and the location of the altar. Let me present you with a conundrum and perhaps you can give me its solution: If I were to become convinced that neither of the brothers Grimm are going to guide me to the altar, wouldn't it be true that I have no need to keep either of you alive? And if I have no reason to keep you alive, you have no reason to guide me to the altar. What would the scholars call that? An 'impasse'? What shall we do about our impasse, Jacob?"

Jacob's gaze at Torsten was venomous. Will was trying to fathom what their captor was playing at.

"No answers to that, Jacob? Young Will believes I have nothing to bargain with. He forgets that I have this…" Without lowering the wand/blade still poised at Jacob's throat, Torsten moved one finger to tap its hilt. "Will's a very sensible lad, I can see that much. I'm sure he doesn't believe the stories of the miraculous power of the Messer and the Altar des Feuer to resurrect the dead. I'm not sure I believe such sacrilegious bunk myself." Torsten forced Jacob to turn his head a bit so that he and his prisoner were eye-to-eye. He wanted to be absolutely sure Jacob knew he wasn't bluffing right now. "But _you_ believe in it, don't you? You wouldn't have gone to these lengths to find the artifacts otherwise. I wonder if you had someone in mind to bring back from the dead?"

Jacob and Will both went a bit pale at that question, but Jacob only blinked his good eye at Torsten in response.

"I suspected as much," Torsten nodded. "Well, since your original plans are clearly out of the question because of my interference, I feel obliged to make it up to you, Jacob. You can't resurrect whoever it was you had in mind, but I wonder if the need to bring a brother back from the dead would sufficiently motivate you---either of you---to guide me to the altar?" He glanced from Jacob to Will and back, arching an eyebrow as innocently as if he'd asked if one of them would care for a cup of tea or a meal. "Shall we find out? Which one should I pick? The blasphemer---?" He directed that at Jacob. "---or the non-believer?" Torsten jerked his head in Will's direction. "I'm not particular about which one to kill, since either of you can remove that talisman and open that book for me…"

"Scotland."

Will had said it. Torsten and Jacob both turned to face him. Jacob shook his head, 'no', heedless of the blade at his neck. Will ignored him. Jacob might be willing to sacrifice his—or their---life for his mystical hokum, but Will wouldn't allow him to do so.

"Where in Scotland?" Torsten asked.

"Take us to Scotland. When we reach the shore, you'll release me and Jacob—unharmed---and the book and the map are yours. I'll remove the talisman for you. I've read enough of the book to know that everything you need to find the altar is inside."

Jacob writhed against his bonds, his angry words for his brother muffled by the gag. Will understood anyway but fixed his younger sibling with a stern stare. _Jake can hate me long as he pleases, as long as we both get off this ship alive._

Torsten watched Jacob's reaction to Will's offer. The younger brother's outrage and agitation was all the proof he needed to satisfy him that Will had told the truth. Still, Torsten wanted verbal confirmation from the scholar: "Scotland?" he asked Jacob.

Will kept his eyes locked on Jacob's and his warning still clear. When Will nodded affirmatively, Jacob hesitated only seconds before parroting the gesture to Torsten.

Torsten lowered the wand/blade and relinquished his grip on Jacob. "There we are, then. A sensible lad indeed, thank you, Will." He stood up straight and tucked the Messer des Feuer safely back into his coat pocket. Almost as an afterthought, he removed Jacob's gag and loosened the chains so that his prisoner could move just a bit. The boy was tempted to spit on his abductor, but decided the deed would have accomplished nothing more than Torsten blackening Jacob's other eye. "We have a long voyage ahead, gentlemen. Best make yourselves comfortable."

With that, Gerit climbed the ladder, pounded twice on the hatch to signal those on the other side to open it, and left the brothers alone in the dankness of the cargo hold. There was the scrape as the hatch above them was locked.

When the shuffle of footfalls above them grew faint and finally faded away, Will faced his brother. "Are you hurt?" It was an absurd question, given that both of them were beaten and scarred by the wand/blade and that Jacob's face was one large bruise. Will, however, had to ask. He could not catalog his brother's injuries by sight alone with the grime and blood that streaked Jacob's face and clothing.

Trying to rub feeling back into his limbs, so long held immobile, Jacob dismissed his own wounds for the question more pressing in his mind: "Where's my book?"

Will wanted to scream. Here they were, prisoners in what had to be a pirated ship, speaking face-to-face for the first time in years, and Jacob's first words to him were: '_Where's my book_?'! Jacob could show some gratitude that Will had gone to all this trouble to find him…or some concern for Will's well being! He could, at the _very_ least, have the grace to apologize for getting both of them into this mess!

"That's all you've got to say? 'Where's my book'? Do you know what I've had to do to find you?" Will's temper flared hotter with each indignant word. His temple throbbed in pain all the more, but Will ignored it. "I had the life frightened out of me---_twice_---by Serya's…'children'. I've been bashed on the head, abducted, and chained up. _And_ I had to kiss a bearded woman in Hollenstadt. A woman. With a beard. Full on the mouth!"

Jacob actually looked interested in that. "You kissed Lorelei? Did she turn back into a princess?"

_Dear Lord, Jacob really _has_ gone insane,_ Will gaped at his brother. "Yes, absolutely, with a palace in an enchanted forest and a glittering crown of jewels and a carriage pulled by unicorns. What an interesting variety of friends you've made, Jake." Frustrated to distraction, Will rubbed his pounding temples, counting to ten in hopes that the desire to fling the book right at Jacob's forehead would pass. "All this trouble, but do you ask if I'm hurt or how I found you or why I'm here? No, all you want to know is: 'Where's your book' and 'Was the bearded vagrant a princess'!"

Jacob blinked, clearly mystified as to what his older brother was so angry about. Nevertheless, after pondering that for a minute, he obligingly changed his question: "_Are_ you hurt?"

"Yes, I'm hurt! They smacked me with an oar!" Will snapped.

There was another lull in the conversation while his brother reflected on that. "I'm sorry."

"Well, thank you!"

Another pause, and Jacob added: "Why are you here, Will?"

"Why am I---?" Will cringed, regretting his tirade. _That_ wasn't the question he wanted to hear and not one he wanted to answer. He shouldn't have mentioned it. _I had a dream where Sister's ghost told me you were going to sacrifice yourself, that's why._ _Wouldn't Jacob just love to hear that_? It didn't matter that Will's dream had turned out to be correct, he wasn't confessing to acting on such superstitious tripe to Jacob of all people. "Because, my brother is digging up artifacts from some demented extinct cult so he can go off searching for some mythological rock that brings people back from the dead. Because you've got murderers kidnapping you! Why are _you_ here, Jake? What were you going to do when you found the Altar des Feuer? No, let me guess, another insane scheme to use hokum to---"

Jacob furrowed his brow, anger flickering in his dark eyes finally. "Don't call me 'insane', Will! I'm not insane!" He was used to hearing the word, but he loathed it. It had been whispered behind him wherever he went as a child. The story of his Sister and the charlatan who'd duped him had followed Jacob to every village where the family had lived. Coming from his brother, the word held a harsh and painful sting.

"Yes, a wise and sound-minded man believes mystical wands and altars can bring people back from the dead…" Will mocked.

Jacob's ears were red now. "I'm not a fool, either!"

Will wasn't listening any more. "I came here to stop you from throwing your life away trying to resurrect Sister with more magic beans!"

As soon as those words were out of his mouth, Will knew he'd gone a step too far. Jacob's eyes betrayed his surprise and guilt…evidence that Will had correctly guessed his brother's intentions…but the shock gave way quickly to deepening fury. Jacob looked to be fighting the urge to strike at Will, but the chains would have prevented him if he tried. He squared his shoulders and pointedly turned away from Will, closing off from his brother as he always did when Will tossed off those two words, '_magic beans_'.

_That's just perfect, two years of not speaking to each other, and now that I've found Jake again we're back where we started from within two minutes._

Will didn't know how to have a conversation with Jacob without ending up in a row. His words were coming out as anger because his patience and temper had been taxed to their limits--- first by spending weeks worried about Jacob's fate and again that evening thanks to Torsten's allowing Will to think Jacob was dead, and, after that awful, shattering feeling, by the shock of having his brother restored to him safe (relatively) and (mostly) well. Will felt he had the right to be out of sorts.

Still, Will hadn't meant to end up hurling insults at Jake, but sometimes he didn't know how to talk to his brother, how to get through to him in that fairy tale world that was Jacob's reality. Jacob had to give up his obsession before he got himself killed.

Therefore, Will wasn't going to let Jacob shut him out yet. So, he pushed a bit harder: "If that's what being a 'scholar' is all about, you can forget about using our family money to return to Heidelberg---!"

Jacob's eyes, blazing now, met Will's. It was not in Jacob's nature to be violent, especially not with his own brother, but he might have physically lashed out at Will, had his bindings not prevented him from moving. "'_Family'_? Were we 'family' when you forgot to write me that our Mother was dying? Were you afraid your 'insane' brother would do something to embarrass you at the funeral? Were we 'family' when you tried to get rid of our home without telling me?"

"What would you have done if you'd known about Mother? You'd have sat there scribbling in your book and left the arrangements for me to manage anyway! That's how you deal with _everything_!" Will shouted.

Jacob started to say something, but whatever it was died on his lips. There was only a hint of hurt in his eyes. "You shouldn't have told Torsten where to find the altar," Jacob admonished. "How did you know?"

Were the truth to be told, Will would have gladly provided Torsten the location of the altar and might have even helped the man destroy it---if only killing both Will and Jacob wasn't part of the deal. If the altar was out of reach, Jacob would be safe, forced to abandon his crazy notion of using it, and Will's life could return to some kind of normalcy…although he'd have to keep a closer eye on his brother in the future. Will leaned his head backwards, resting against the wall, trying to calm his temper.

"You tore out the page with the map, but you neglected to remove the section that read: 'The altar rests in the Scottish Hebrides. Between that and the fact that the _Adalia_ was only going to make three stops, it wasn't difficult to guess…and Torsten had a knife to your throat or did that escape your attention?"

Jacob's hand went automatically to the small cut Torsten had made on his neck. Inwardly, he groaned at his own mistake of not blotting out that one simple sentence. He should have torn the entire section dealing with the Desdemondians from the book, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to destroy his research. Still, he persisted: "I'm not giving him the book."

"Yes, you are! And since I have the book you don't have much to say about it, do you?" Will snapped. "I'm trying to save our lives. We have a bargain---"

Jacob snorted at that. "_You're_ bargain. Not mine. I'm the only one who saw the map to the altar. I won't lead Torsten there so he can destroy it." _Will was right though…unless Jacob got the book back, he had nothing to say about what Will or Torsten did with it. He had to get the book away from his brother. Where had Will hidden it?_

Will's face flushed red. _Damn Jacob's pig-headedness. _ "It's our lives! Or are you going to sacrifice _our_ lives for magic now as well?"

Jacob's eyes grew dark once again, but a tick of his jaw was his only physical reaction to Will's baiting. "You said it yourself---he's going to kill us anyway. The altar's the only thing I have to bargain with. He doesn't need us if he has the map. Without it, he needs me to guide him to it. That's what's keeping us alive."

"So, you lead him there and he only kills you later---"

"Then I'm finally out of your hair, aren't I? No more 'foolish, insane Jake' to embarrass you…"

Jacob couldn't have landed a more perfect blow if he'd lashed out and struck Will with his fist. Guilt flashed in Will's eyes, but his face turned red now (Jacob did not know whether that owed to rage or humiliation and didn't care), and his mouth was nothing but a thin line as his jaw clenched. "You're bent on getting yourself killed, fine. Here---" As Jacob had hoped, Will pulled the book from its hiding place behind his back. He pitched the journal at Jacob. With one eye swollen shut, Jacob was almost blindsided by the book, and he raised a hand only at the last instant to deflect it. "---go on! See how long Torsten plays your game before he cuts both our throats. Better still---you're so enamored of magic, see if your book can conjure a way out of here!" he challenged. With that, he pointedly turned his back on Jacob and faced the wall. He did not say another word.

Jacob snatched up the discarded book with a satisfied smile Will did not see.


	8. Chapter 8

AUTHOR'S NOTE: _I don't own the characters (Miramax does) or the fairy tales referenced in this story. I'm not making one single penny off this story. (pauses) I wouldn't mind borrowing the boys for awhile though…_

_1) This is rated TEEN for a reason. There are some very adult themes and situations and angst in here and some violence. It deals with rather dark issues relating to familial rifts and deaths of family members (if you saw the movie, you know to what I'm referring). Can't handle, please don't read. 2) Although there are religious references in the story, nothing is based on any real people or cults. They were completely fabricated for plot purposes and if you see similarities to any real people or cults, you are squinting way too hard, if you know what I mean. Do _not _try anything you see in this story, boys and girls, because it's all made up stuff. So, if anyone flames for reasons of dark themes or religious references, I'm going to ignore it because I've given fair warning. 3) The opinions expressed by characters do not reflect the opinion of this writer._ _See Chapter One for the rest of the notes._

**8**

Will slept, but Jacob could not rest. His body, numb and aching, begged for sleep but his thoughts gave him no peace. Instead, Jacob alternated between thumbing through his treasured journal, in hopes that a solution to their predicament would present itself, and considering the unexpected arrival of his brother. Will's presence was the last complication to his plan that Jacob had anticipated.

_Jacob had been disoriented when Torsten had bound and gagged him and covered him with that blanket. Jorn and Torsten's other henchmen had crept aboard the _Adalia_, put the whaling ship's crewmen (the ones who didn't resist) onto longboats and left them at sea to row ashore. They'd come up on Jacob before he'd known what happened, as he'd been reading the pages he'd torn from his journal, the pages with the map to the Altar des Feuer, in the small quarters that the captain had found for his unexpected passenger. When the intruders had begun to break down the door, Jacob heard their muffled words: "Find the map." Knowing at once who they were and what they wanted, Jacob had taken the map he'd torn from his journal and only just had time to burn it with the flame of the cabin's lamp before the door crashed open. The pendant—meant to specifically protect Jacob and those of his family's bloodline---that Serya had given him was lying out of reach on a table. Jacob wondered if the talisman would have saved him from capture. _

_He'd awakened one of the cargo holds with his hands and feet shackled. The strangers who'd imprisoned him demanded his book. By the grace of God, Jacob had left his journal in Serya's care before he'd set sail on the _Adalia_. Jacob had refused and the torture had begun, brutally and efficiently. Jorn had tried to pummel the information out of Jacob. Torsten, meanwhile, found the Messier among Jacob's belonging while searching for the book. _

_Jacob had seen the round, ornate, triangular pendant tucked beneath Torsten's collar and known at once who these men were: Descendents of the men in Hollenstadt who'd first driven Desdemond and his followers from Germany. The scroll Jacob found that started him on his quest for the Messer and the altar indicated that these men had formed a society, quite independent of the church so that they did not have to answer to the church for their actions or their methods, dedicated to eradicating all traces of the cult. The scroll had been sealed with an imprint identical to the pendant Torsten wore._

_When Jorn's efforts failed, Gerit had used the wand/blade to try to persuade the boy to cooperate. It was only a pounding on the hatch above them---another of Torsten's comrades with a problem demanding his attention---that interrupted the interrogation. Torsten had exchanged a few words with his minion and both men had stared at Jacob while they talked. Half-blind from his rapidly-swelling eye, ribs aching, cuts from the Messer spreading pain like fire in his veins, Jacob had sagged against the wall to catch his breath and prepare for the next round of abuses. He would not lead them to the altar. No matter whether or not he'd understood or agreed with their intentions, Jacob had set out to find the altar for his own purposes…and he meant to finish what he'd started._

_When they'd finished their conversation, rather than resuming the torture, Torsten had tucked the wand/blade into his coat pocket. He was smiling an enigmatic grin that unsettled Jacob. "Jorn," he'd summoned his comrade, "I have another mission for you. Bind our friend so he doesn't move or speak---" He'd pointed to Jacob. "---and cover him up, then join me on the main deck."_

_Thus, Jacob had found himself shrouded by the blanket. He'd blacked out from the aches in his battered body, falling into a dreamless slumber, until the creak of the hatch and a sudden, heavy 'thud' catapulted him back to wakefulness. He felt an instant of panic, especially with the coverlet that blinded him, before he remembered where he was and what had happened. Jacob had tried to reach out and pull off the suffocating blanket only to find that his chains had been tightened and now held him completely immobile. Someone had put a gag in his mouth as well. It was, all in all, an intolerable situation._

_Voices were arguing, Jacob's mind sluggishly noted, voices that he recognized. One was his kidnapper's, the other sounded like…_

_"If you've done anything to my brother, I will kill you."_

Will!

_Jacob had tried to move, but the chains held him fast. He'd tried to speak, but the gag stifled any sounds he could make beyond a soft grunt…and the creaking of the ship and Torsten's booming voice overpowered what feeble noises Jacob could utter past the gag and his too-dry throat._

_"…yet you spend the better part of a month charging from one end of Germany to the other searching for Jacob…blood is blood, I suppose…"_

Jacob glanced up from his book to consider his sleeping sibling. Will had been searching for him. _Why?_ Jacob hadn't so much as received a note from his brother in years, not since Jacob had left Catriona to study in Heidelberg, and Will had left their mother's home at least a year before that, had sneaked away before sunrise of the night like a damned thief without a parting word to Jacob or Mother. The memory still infuriated Jacob.

Why was Will searching for him _now_, of all times? If he'd been trying to find Jacob to tell him about their Mother's passing, why hadn't he just said so? No, there was another reason that his brother had felt compelled to come looking for him, Jacob had seen that much in Will's face when he'd asked, '_Why are you here_?' There was something Will wasn't telling him.

_How had Will found him_? Jacob, quite deliberately, hadn't told anyone where he was going or what he was up to when he'd left Heidelberg to find the altar. Will wouldn't have cared whether his brother got himself killed digging up old altars, Jacob had been certain at the time, so what was the point of telling him? Mother would have stopped him if she'd known his intentions, so Jacob couldn't tell her either.

But, Will had still tracked down Jacob---tracked him down and guessed his intentions. _How_? _Why_?

Jacob supposed it wasn't important. Jacob couldn't let Will stop him. Will knew, and now that he knew, he'd try to stop Jacob from reaching the altar. He wouldn't believe in the altar's powers. Will had never believed in magic. He'd never believe in Jacob, either. Will believed in logic, rationality, and science, just like their Mother and sister had. Magic, fairy tales, the 'poetic view of the world', those were traits Jacob had inherited from their Father.

_I should never have left him the journal_. _I should have burned it._ Jacob rued his errorWhen he'd left the book in Serya's charge, Jacob had fully believed it would be years before Will came into possession of the journal---better still, if Jacob had succeeded in his quest, Will would never come into custody of the book at all. The journal was Jacob's prized possession, the only earthly possession of any value to him. A lifetime of work was collected in its pages. Will was the only family Jacob had left. That was the one simple reason he'd wanted his brother to have the book if Jacob should fail in his plans. Will would have no use for the journal.

Unconsciously, Jacob turned to very first pages of his journal and the first 'entries' he'd made in the book. The words on those pages were scribblings, gibberish almost, making sense only to the four year old mind that had created them. Jacob smiled seeing them, his eyes clouding…

_Father couldn't be blamed for indulging his youngest child. The fact that the boy lived was proof of the existence of miracles. When the midwife who delivered the infant had declared him stillborn, the crush of grief had all but shattered his parents. It had been their Father who had taken the infant into his arms---whispering prayers under his breath for the Lord's mercy on the family and the child---when the miracle happened: The child began to breathe. One gasp, then another, and then rhythmic breaths had gradually brought a rosy tint to the baby's deathly gray skin. For the longest while, both Father and Mother had sat there, clutching the baby in terror that he might disappear from their grasp, until gentle knocking on the bedroom door drew them from their fear-induced catatonia._

"_Come in!" Mother had called, knowing who it was. The door scraped open, and two tiny faces peered into the room. "Children, come, meet your brother," she invited her son and daughter._

_Having been hardly able to wait this long---months anticipating the arrival of their sibling and then hours at the neighbor's house while their Mother gave birth---the children had burst into the room. Sister had guided her toddler brother over to the bed, and Father had hoisted up Will to set the boy on his lap so he could see the infant their Mother held. "There, see, Will? You have a baby brother."_

"_What's his name?" With awe, Sister had brushed her hand over the baby's forehead, feeling the wisps of pale, downy hair._

"_We've named him 'Jacob'," Mother announced._

_Jacob had been an incessantly curiously child. As soon as he'd learned to bleat out words, 'why' became his favorite one. "Why is the sky blue?" "How do flowers know when to grow?" "What makes the fog?" "Why do insects have wings but people do not?" "Why is fire hot?" "Why does cold turn water to ice?"_

_Father rose to the daunting challenge of trying to appease Jacob's boundless curiosity. Perhaps knowing that scientific answers would mean little to a small child (perhaps not knowing every answer, especially to the matter of the sky being blue), Father invented fanciful answers, of which 'magic' was his preference. Seeds "magically" produced flowers, Father would say, because angels made them produce flowers. Jacob believed Father without debate. Will or Sister, ever sensible, would chime in that water and dirt made flowers grow, but Jacob ignored them. If Father said "magic", it was "magic". If he said "magic" made the sun rise each day, it was true. If Jacob called the orange, red, and yellow trees of autumn "rainbows", Father agreed that it was a more apt description. Mother would tell Jacob, many years later, that it had delighted Father no end that one of his children shared his "poetic" view of the world._

_In spite of Father's great influence during his childhood, Jacob's memories of Father were mostly snippets and impressions of feelings. Father had died when Jacob was barely four. His strongest, clearest memories were of winter and the long nights when the family gathered in the large living area of their home. Father would boost Jacob up onto his lap, press a quill or piece of charcoal into the boy's hand, and let Jacob draw in Father's own journal. Parchment being expensive, and Father's notes being important, Jacob made sure to draw carefully so as not to waste a single inch of space on the pages._

_The last time Jacob had scribbled in Father's book was on Jacob's fourth birthday. Out of the blue, Father had interrupted his youngest son's work with an announcement: "I think we have a gift for our birthday boy."_

_Mother had smiled, "I believe so. Now, where could it be--?"_

_At the promise of a hidden present, Jacob had vaulted off his Father's lap to help his Mother search. Sister had watched from her chair near the fire, hiding a grin as her baby brother dashed to every corner and searched every shelf and drawer in the small house. Will had rolled his eyes and gone back to his own toys._

_To Jacob, it was an agonizingly slow search, but only a minute elapsed before Mother pulled a bundle wrapped in cloth from a drawer. "This looks like a gift. Why don't you check to make sure, Jacob?"_

_The child snatched up the package, dropped to his knees on the spot, and all but ripped the cloth away from his treasure. When he found it was a blank journal, identical in every way to his Father's, Jacob let out a squeal of joy. He hugged his Mother first, then his Father. "You must promise to take very good care of it," Father instructed him with a wink._

"_I will, Father," the boy had promised._

Jacob was caught off-guard by the solitary tear that escaped his good eye and impatiently brushed it away. _I'm sorry I have to break my promise, Father,_ he silently apologized. Will meant to trade the book for their lives, but Torsten could not have the journal. Jacob had decided that much. He would not lead Torsten to the altar, but more importantly, this book was Jacob's life work…all that he was. He'd prefer to burn the journal to ash than surrender it to his captors, if it came to that. Jacob would find another way to get himself and Will off of this ship.

He flipped past a few more pages and paused when Sister's image stared up at him from the page.

"_What's this?"_

_Jacob had not heard Mother approach, so intently had the child been concentrating on his task. He'd had another dream about Sister the night before. The boy dreamed about her every night since she had gone to Heaven, in fact. Sister was an angel in the dreams. Jacob didn't know how he knew that, he just sensed it somehow. _

_Before he had died, Father had explained about angels to his children, to Jacob in particular since Jacob was the youngest. Father had promised that when a loved one went to Heaven, even though you did not see them again for a very long time, God would make them angels and send them back to watch over you. If Father said it, Jacob believed it with all his heart. Father had said that he would be watching over all of them, and even if Jacob couldn't see him, he need only to speak aloud and Father would hear him. Sister must also hear, the boy reckoned. Therefore, Jacob talked to them all the time, since Mother and Will never seemed to do so. It would be rude to pretend the angels weren't there._

_But, unlike Father's angel, Jacob did see Sister's angel. When he was asleep, he dreamed and she would appear. She would walk with Jacob along a hillside path or they'd play in a field beside a stone wall in a city by the sea that Jacob did not recognize. He wanted to see her when he was awake---see a picture of her as she was now, radiating light, kindness, and love---so he was sketching her in his journal._

_Jacob hadn't meant for anyone to see his artwork. Will would have yelled at him. His brother yelled at him quite often since Sister went to Heaven, so Jacob was being mindful to do nothing that would upset Will (not an easy task, since everything Jacob said tended to upset his brother). Mother was sad, and Jacob was trying very hard to do nothing to make her more unhappy. _

_But, Jacob had lost track of the time, absorbed with his task, and his Mother had come searching for him. He was hiding in the alley behind their home, away from the passer-bys, since they always gave him odd looks and whispered things as they walked past like "That's the one" or "not quite right" or "magic beans"._

"_Jacob? Why didn't you answer me?" Mother saw the picture he was sketching. "What are you drawing?" she asked kindly._

_Jacob closed the book, regretting that the hasty action would smear the ink and the picture. He opened his mouth, but it was ingrained into him not to lie and he dared not admit to his muse, so all that emerged was a squeak. "I---I—was---I mean---"_

_Not understanding his nervousness, Mother put a hand on his shoulder to try to calm her son. "What's the matter? Jacob, you can tell me, whatever it is." The boy shook his head vehemently, and her voice grew sharp. "Jacob, show me what you were doing. Now."_

_Having been ordered, he knew better than to disobey. Reluctantly, he opened his journal to the smeared sketch of Sister. Mother's hand went to her mouth to stifle a gasp and her eyes widened. Jacob feared she might cry or yell, but Mother did not. She only gazed at the image with watery eyes for a long time before she finally smiled softly and said, "It's---It's very lovely. You drew this yourself?"_

_He nodded. "It's Sister."_

"_Yes, I see that."_

"_She's an angel, like in my dreams."_

"_You dream about your Sister?" Mother asked._

"_Father said angels come back to watch their families." Jacob stared up hopefully at his Mother. "Do you think Father and Sister are watching us?"_

_Mother put her arm around his shoulder and squeezed. "I'm sure they are."_

Jacob didn't know how it had happened, when the dreams of Sister began to change from the happy visitations of an angel to the torment from a ghost. Jacob had stared at the sketch of Sister for hours on end as a child, but the sight of it now was a source of such raw pain that he could stand it only a few seconds before he had to turn the page.

Was it age that made him more keenly aware of how foolish he'd been believing that charlatan with the 'magic' beans? Was it years of those looks and whispers in his wake and the story that had followed him from village to village? Was it the disgust in Will's eyes at any time when he caught Jacob elbow-deep in his "hokum" books or the way Will cried "magic beans" whenever he wanted to tell Jacob that he was being a fool (or simply wanted to win an argument whether he was right or wrong)?

He didn't need Will's reminders or the prattling and gossip of strangers---Jacob remembered his mistake all too clearly on his own. Will would never understand what it was like to live with that folly every day, to be reminded of it every waking minute of every day by the living and by the ghost in his dreams every night. He'd never forgive Jacob. How could he? How could Jacob hope to atone for his mistake with his brother when he couldn't even make peace with it in his own heart? Will considered this situation—the Messer des Feuer, the altar---more rubbish, more of Jacob's 'insanity'. Let him. Jacob could not give up now, not when he was so close to finally having the chance to fix his mistake.

He just had to get Will out of harm's way---and out of his hair—first. Torsten would not get the opportunity to kill his brother because Jacob simply would not be responsible for the death of another sibling. Besides, Will would interfere in Jacob's plans if Jacob didn't manage to separate from his brother and soon.

After all that was taken care of, there would be the matter of retrieving the Messer from Torsten…but one problem at a time.

There had to be a way off the _Adalia_. The answer was in the journal somewhere, Jacob just had to find it. He turned the pages with renewed determination, until he came to the pages filled with the tales of Serya's people…

"_Ho there, friend! Caught in the rain were you?"_

"_Only since I left home." _

_Jacob was certain the rain had been sent to bedevil his every step. If not, it was an amazing coincidence that the downpour seemed to save itself for those times when Jacob was on foot…times which came quite frequently since he'd sold his horse and most of his belongings not long after leaving Catriona. He would need the extra money when he reached the school in Heidelberg, and he would as soon walk as use any more of his family's meager savings. _

_If his Mother had known how little he'd managed to save for his studies, she'd have insisted he take more of her own money, protective of her children as she was. She'd given a full third of her money to Will when he'd left home the year before, and another third to Jacob when he was invited to Heidelberg. However, in her advancing years, with both her sons away from home, she'd need her money to pay the villagers for help with household tasks and for doctors when she was ill (God forbid). Jacob wasn't a child, he was midway through his teen years, and he had his wits. He could manage, so there was no point worrying (or bankrupting) her._

_If only this confounded rain would leave him alone! Jacob had been walking in it for days. Few wagons or carriages or carts were traveling in the foul weather and still fewer paused to offer rides to the young man. He was nursing a remarkably stubborn cold and his feet were soaked thanks to the holes in his boots. He was beginning to doubt his chances of every reaching the school alive the way things were going._

_So, the appearance of the small caravan of brightly painted square-shaped carriages was as good as a gift from God. More miraculous was the fact that, rather than adding to his misery by splashing water on him as they rolled past, the drive of the lead wagon reined to a stop alongside Jacob. Three more wagons, trailing the first, halted as well. A few people poked their heads through their carriages' windows, curious at the unexpected stop, to see what was happening. The lead driver, bundled under a thick coat and wide-brimmed hat, peered down at the young man and flashed a grin full of yellow teeth._

"_And where's home?" the driver asked._

_Jacob stared up at the man, blinking past rain that was whipped into his eyes by the breeze. "Catriona."_

_The traveler was familiar with Germany. "Two days in the rain? That's a long while."_

_Jacob shrugged, somewhat abashedly, "Six months, actually." There were myriad fascinating discoveries to be made on one's first time away from home, Jacob had learned. The constant intrigue of new places and new people had delayed him on a daily basis._

_The driver grinned wider and whistled. "Six months to get here from Catriona? You've gone by the leisurely route, I take it?"_

"_The only route worth your time," Jacob confirmed, returning the grin._

"_A poet's attitude! So true, lad." The quip earned a belly laugh from the older man, who slapped his knee in his mirth, which abated only when the teenager let out a rather violent sneeze. Sobbering, the driver said: "Tell me, boy, where's the end of your 'leisurely stroll'?"_

"_Heidelberg," Jacob sniffed._

_The man nodded. "Well, we'd best take you as far as we can. You're about to catch your death from the sounds of it." He reached around to bang his hand on the roof of the carriage. "Serya! Open the door! We've a lost soul in need of a ride out here!"_

_A plump, matronly woman peered out of the window, took one look at the water-logged youth, and agreed. Jacob heard shuffling within the carriage, the scrap of a bolt, and the rear door swung open. The driver gestured to the door. "Go on, lad. It's not much warmer in there, but it's much drier."_

_Grateful beyond words, Jacob touched his own hat politely, "Thank you, sir," and hurried climbed into the wagon._

_Contrary to the driver's opinion, the inside of the carriage felt warm as the sun after days of trudging in mud and rain. When his eyes adjusted to the dimness---the only light was the sunlight, diffused by clouds, which poured through the window----Jacob saw the woman, Serya, and two small shapes huddled beneath blankets. _

"_Dear boy, what are you doing out here alone and on foot in this weather?" Serya was in the process of pouring liquid from a clay bottle into a clay cup. She tsked in sympathy at the drenched young man. She laid a cool hand on his forehead. "Hmf, just as I thought, catching your death, that's what you're doing." Serya shoved the cup into his hands. "Drink this---wait…" she withdrew her hand and the cup. "…how old are you?"_

"_Twenty," Jacob lied._

_Serya raised her eyebrow. "Minus--?"_

"_Four," he admitted._

"_Twenty? A pup!" She handed him the cup again. "Drink up, anyway, and sit before—"_

_Jacob heard the driver whistle and the carriage lurched forward without warning. He tumbled to the bed of straw lining the floor of the wagon._

"_---you fall," Serya finished._

_The cup was full of strong brandy that immediately sent warmth into Jacob's aching chest. Serya provided a blanket and---with unwavering insistence that she was far too old for him to be bashful in front of her---a change of clothing. Warm and dry for the first time in months, Jacob inspected his few belongings for rain-damage while Serya whittled._

"_Your family's in Catriona?" she asked._

"_Just my mother," he corrected as he piled his belongings onto the straw. The bag containing his only possessions was quite soaked, as it turned out. Jacob had attempted to use his cloak to shield the bag, but the wind had blown the rain from every direction to foil his efforts. The bag held a few changes of clothing, too rain-soaked to be of use at the moment, quills and ink (one bottle had broken and spilled mostly onto one formerly white shirt), what little money Jacob had, and his journal._

"_No siblings?" the woman continued._

"_None I'm on speaking terms with at the moment," Jacob answered without thinking._

_Serya wondered at the remark, but chose not press what was clearly a personal matter. "That's a shame, that."_

_Jacob nodded absently, more concerned with his book. He'd wrapped his clothing around it before the bad weather had set in, then tucked the bag beneath his cloak, caring more if his journal got wet than if his skin did. To his relief, the book was virtually untouched by the water._

"_So, what's in Heidelberg?" Serya eventually asked._

"_School, actually," he said._

_She brightened a bit at that, approving. "Ah, you're a scholar. How nice." She nodded to his journal. "And a writer too?"_

_Jacob quickly tucked the book into his bag. "No, this is---just stories."_

_That was the wrong answer, for it only piqued her interest. "Oh? Let's hear one, then," she requested. The two children nodded beneath their hoods and let out chirps of agreement._

_Jacob felt the familiar stab of fear and heard years of disapproving words echo in his memory. Finally warm and off his feet, he was disinclined to say something that would get him pitched out into the rain again. "No, I can't…they wouldn't be very interesting…it's…it's religious studies…from school."_

"_And why wouldn't that interest me? What a fine thing to study. Let's hear some," the woman insisted._

_Flustered, he still refused, "I can't---it's not religious so much as…mythology."_

_Comprehension dawned in her eyes. Still, she was enjoying his nervousness. "Magic, you mean."_

_He fell silent and nodded, tensing for the forthcoming condemnations. Serya, however, continued whittling the tiny wooden figurine of a horse. "Interesting choice of studies. Believe in magic do you, lad?"_

_Well, he'd been found out, there was small point in denying it now. Besides, Jacob did not like to lie, least of all to his elders and to women. Miserably, he nodded again._

"_Heard words on the matter, too, I'll wager," she guessed._

"_That's putting it mildly," the teenager said, wincing._

_Serya pursed her lips. "Is that why your sibling's not on speaking terms with you?"_

"_That's part of it." Jacob finally dared to meet her eyes. "Should I go?" Not waiting for her answer, he began gathering his belongings._

_She reached over and caught his hand, stopping him, then gave it a friendly squeeze. "Would you like to see a magic trick, young man?" she asked with a wink._

_Jacob was astounded. After a second, he remembered to answer: "Yes."_

"_Good." Serya released his hand. _

_She cleared a circle in the straw bedding and set her little horse carving at the center of the circle. The two shrouded children and Jacob all leaned forward to watch, riveted, waiting to see what would happen. The woman muttered an incantation and pointed her finger at the horse. When the words were spoken, the tiny wooden horse came to life. Jacob gaped as it let out a whinny and began trotting, just as a flesh and blood horse might, around the circle Serya had made._

_The children squealed and began trying to catch the horse as it darted about the circle. In their enthusiasm, their blankets and hoods fell away. Jacob stared in fascination at the children: They were not flesh and blood---like the horse, the children were carved of wood. Marionettes. Puppets brought to life by Serya's incantation…_

Jacob slammed the journal shut, suddenly inspired. _That's it! That's the solution!_

A plan had formed quickly in his mind. He knew now what he had to do. Straining against the cumbersome chains, Jacob reached for the lantern mounted on the wall. He could just barely reach the candle inside with the tips of his fingers. Removing it, he carefully held the burning candle with one hand. With the other, he tore the pages pertaining to the Desdemondians, the Messer, and the altar from his journal and burned them…fighting the impulse to stamp out the small flames as his research was consumed. _No, this is the only way,_ he told himself.

Will grunted in his sleep as the light scent of smoke drifted to his side of the tiny hold. He tried to roll over and drift back into deeper slumber, but his chain prevented it. The smoke made him cough and, slowly, he opened his eyes---just in time to see the last scrap of paper turn to ash. Will sat bolt upright, fully alert now: "What are you _doing_!" He lunged futilely for the charred pages, but his chains held him back. He knew without asking which pages Jacob had just destroyed.

Jacob grinned. "I'm getting us off this boat."

"You're giving him the journal?" Will asked, with no small doubt that Jacob hadn't just killed them both with his rash actions.

"I have a plan."


	9. Chapter 9

_See Chapter One for disclaimers because I still don't own the characters and I'm still not profiting from this except in making reader's happy hopefully._

**9**

The worst part of the "plan" was the interminable waiting in the cargo hold, more often than not in the awkward silence that had settled between them and bereft of any sense of time, but wait the brothers did. Their abductors, distinguishable by the heavy clop of booted feet on the deck overhead, opened the hatch only for tasks necessary to keep their hostages alive and in some semblance of health, just a few times each day---or what the brothers presumed to be each day. The dead bodies of the _Adalia's_ crewmen had been removed, mercifully.

When finally, after many such 'days' passed, they heard the lighter gait that they knew to be Gerit Torsten's and the scrape of the hatch opening, both brothers tensed. Will was not convinced Jacob's plan would succeed, but had hadn't come up with any alternative schemes during their captivity…non that would wouldn't end with them shot, stabbed, or drowned at least.

Torsten was followed into the hold by the lumbering Jorn, who toted a large metal bucket with his still-bandaged arm. Will was not at all reassured by the fact that Torsten had tucked a pistol into his belt, in plain view of his prisoners, for this conversation. It would seem the leader of their captors was in no mood for further delays. That could be a problem considering the game that the brothers had planned for him.

"Scotland ahead, gentlemen. Time to keep your part of our bargain. Let's have the book," Torsten greeted. His attention was riveted to the book in Jacob's hands. He scowled at the pendant encircling the journal. "But first," he added, pointing to the charm, "you won't mind discarding that talisman of yours into the bucket?" Jorn moved forward, holding out the bucket, staring at the pendant in an expression of disdain and fear.

Jacob made no move to comply. Will answered for both of them: "Our bargain was that you'd take us to shore, set us free, and _then_ you'd have the book." He held up his shackled wrists meaningfully.

Torsten's jaw twitched a bit. "This is a mere alteration of our bargain. Rest assured, you'll be free when we've destroyed the altar."

Will scratched his chin, making a show of contemplating the proposal with a casualness he certainly did not feel. He kept one eye on Torsten's pistol while he spoke: "I'm wondering if we need to clarify our terms? When I say 'free', I mean 'released from captivity to go on about our lives---and what a lovely time it's been meeting all of you'. I don't mean 'free of our mortal coils', if that's your interpretation of our agreement." He snapped the chain around his wrist again for emphasis.

The hand closest to Torsten's weapon twitched, just a bit. He kneeled so that, once more, he was eye-to-eye with the younger men. "I don't enjoy having to kill, Will---"

"Tell the _Adalia_'s crew," Jacob scoffed from his side of the room.

Torsten was unapologetic. "Unfortunate casualties. Those two would be alive if they'd done as we asked like the rest of their shipmates did…and your should learn from their mistakes, Jacob." Jorn held out the bucket again. Jacob again ignored the order.

"Fine attitude from a priest," Will commented.

"He's not a priest, Will." Jacob watched Torsten's face to see how the man reacted to that revelation. "He's part of an underground society who split from the church. They took matters into their own hands tracking down the Desdemondians and destroying the artifacts because they thought the church was too lenient about letting people with knowledge of the cult survive. Only a member of that society would have so much detailed information about the cult."

Torsten wasn't surprised by that revelation, but Will was caught off-guard. That information hadn't been in Jacob's book. _Which meant_--- "Father Traugott wasn't a priest, was he?"

"Asute observation, Will. No, that 'Traugott' was one of our own…unfortunately, Jacob slipped away from him before I could reach Hollenstadt, so it was quite fortunate you came along when you did, or we might have lost Jacob's trail altogether. Gaining your confidence meant providing you with a bit more information about that blasphemous cult than we would have liked, but well worth it." Misinterpreting Will's dismay, Torsten added, "But don't fret…the real Father Traugott is happy and safe at a church in Hamburg."

Torsten's lips curled upwards a bit. He was impressed with both boys in spite of himself. Turning back to the younger Grimm, he said, "And you uncovered more in your studies that I thought, Jacob. I don't supposed there'd be a point in asking you to join us? A scholar of your intelligence would be of great help in our work."

"I don't suppose," Jacob declined.

Torsten accepted that. "The pendant, Jacob, and the book, if you will."

Will mentally braced himself. In the next minute or so, Jacob would hand over the journal—sans map and all references to the altar---for their lives and the plan would either pay off---or they'd both be shot. _Jake could at least have the courtesy to look nervous…_

Jacob shook his head, "The book won't do you any good, Torsten."

Torsten raised an eyebrow, but played along. "And why is that?"

"I tore out the pages pertaining to the Altar and the Messer before I ever left the book with Will." There was enough truth to that for Jacob to tell the lie convincingly. Besides, where Torsten and his methods were involved, Jacob had no qualms or remorse about fibs, lies, or exaggerations whatsoever. There was more than his and Will's lives at stake. "I knew that if Will had the location of the _Anhängers vom Messer des Feuer_, that would be reason enough for you to kill him."

Without even batting an eye, Torsten removed the pistol from his belt. He leveled it squarely at Will's head and fired. The bullet lodged itself into the wooden panels just scant inches from Will's ear.

Having made his point, Torsten kept the weapon trained on Will. "The map," he demanded again.

Pale and shaken, Jacob hurried to add: "I have the map right here." He pointed to his own temple, the slight tremor of his hand betraying how badly Torsten had shaken him with that demonstration. Swallowing the painful lump in his throat, Jacob made his expression stoic and continued, his voice unwavering: "Since you aren't as good as your word, Torsten, we're going to renegotiate our terms: Take us up to the main deck. I'll show you where to make anchor closest to the trail that leads to the altar as a show of good faith. For your part, you and your men give Will a boat and let him go---_alive_, mind you…"

Will turned to glare at Jacob. "That wasn't what we deci----" he argued. The plan had been for both Will and Jacob to be given a boat and set free and Jacob would reproduce the map, _not_ for Will to go and Jacob to stay behind. _What the hell did Jacob think he was doing!_

Jacob ignored him completely. "For _my_ part, as a show of good faith, I'll stay behind and lead you the rest of the way to the altar and you can do whatever you want with it. And, unlike you, Torsten, I _am_ as good as my word."

"You will not--!" Will barked at his brother. A snap of Torsten's finger, and Jorn was at Will's side in two steps, shoving a rag into the young man's mouth to silence further interruptions. Will knew Torsten had no intention of keeping his word, and, when Jacob glanced sidelong at Will, the single look was enough to tell Will what he needed to know: Jacob had never planned to escape Torsten… nor had his brother abandoned his quest for the altar.

Torsten quietly mulled over the offer. He didn't trust Jacob; that much was clear in his eyes. That was fine with Jacob---he didn't trust Torsten either. The man had no intention of releasing Will; Jacob knew that, too. Jacob only had to buy enough time to get himself to the main deck and what Torsten intended wouldn't matter any more. Jacob wasn't half as worried about slipping away from their captor as he was about what he was going to do about eluding Will once they did get away from Torsten…

Finally, Torsten stood. Tucking the pistol back into his belt, he said, "Show me the book. If it's as you say, we have an agreement." He raised his voice to drown out the protests of the confused Will to add: "And discard that pendant---as a show of 'good faith'."

Without hesitation, Jacob removed the talisman and tossed it at Jorn, who shrank back in fear of touching the charm before it landed harmlessly in the bucket. Torsten pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked Jacob's shackles. Jacob stood, stretching out the kinks and pains of spending too long sitting in the confined position. Grudgingly, he allowed Torsten to take the journal and inspect the pages until the man was satisfied that all references to the Desdemondians had been removed…especially the map. He tossed the useless book back to its owner, admonishing: "If you can't deliver what you've promised, lad…"

"I'll be dead and you'll be no worse off than you are now, so it won't matter, will it?" Jacob finished.

Torsten could say nothing to that. He stepped aside to allow Jacob access to the ladder.

Without a backwards glance at his brother, Jacob climbed out of the hatch.

As they made their way from the cargo hold to the deck, Jorn in the lead, followed by Jacob and Torsten, Jacob concentrated on memorizing the way back to the prison and noting how many guards had been posted along the way. He'd be in a very large hurry when he returned to the cargo hold---if everything went as Jacob hoped. There was no lock on the outside of the hatch, just a bolt that held it shut. That was good, but not good enough. Torsten still had the Messer and the keys to Will's shackles. Jacob was going to need both.

"We've been searching for the Messer des Feuer for over a thousand years, Jacob, and you come across it after a few years in Heidelberg," Torsten was saying as Jacob half-listened. "I'm nearly ashamed to call myself an expert on the Desdemondians after being shown up by a boy that way. Tell me, what clue did I miss?"

There was no harm in indulging his curiosity, Jacob decided. "Luck."

The older man harrumphed. "I have no idea what that means."

Jacob hid his grin. "Idle bar room bragging. But, I don't guess you get to spend much time in pubs?" Torsten did not disagree. "I'd tell you Torsten, but if you're as informed as I think you are, I'd be tipping my hand too soon." Torsten might not lend and ear to bar room bragging, but Jacob would wager he'd made himself an expert on all accounts mystical, scientific, or magical in his search for the altar. Simply breathing the words '_Francois Penegrast' _might sufficiently connect the dots for Torsten to discern the altar's location on his own…and then Jacob would have nothing at all to trade for his life or Will's and no hope of laying eyes on the altar, much less using it to save his Sister.

Torsten chuckled at that. "Then, perhaps you'll satisfy my curiosity about how you knew of the altar and the Desdemondians to begin with? I thought we'd destroyed all the scrolls and books mentioning their cult centuries ago. What did I miss?"

"That's the thing I've learned about myths and legends," Jacob answered, "Stories survive because people love to tell them and other people love to hear them…particularly stories no one wants retold. You can torch every library, every scroll, between England and the Heiliggeistkirche and nothing will change that."

The older man couldn't deny that point. "Collecting myths and pursuing them are two entirely different matters, Mr. Grimm. I'm told by your teachers that you're partial to mythology involving death and resurrection---Eurydice, Savitri, Altar des Feuer." Torsten stopped walking, regarding Jacob with an almost paternal manner. Jacob also paused. "If you're open to friendly advice, then keep this in mind: It's a _myth_, Jacob. If you believe it to be anything more, you're not as clever as I'd thought. I'm sure you love whomever it is that's making you chase phantoms and superstitions---but all you'll find in the pursuit of the supernatural is the grave. _Your_ grave if you don't use the considerable wits I think God gave you."

They were one floor below the main deck now, high enough that there were portals to afford a view of the approaching shoreline. Torsten beckoned Jacob to one of the windows. "So, then, which way, Jacob?"

Jacob peered through the portal, pretending to examine the features of the coastline. "I can't see very well from here. Can we go up for a better vantage?"

Torsten stared at him suspiciously now.

"I've no intention of jumping overboard and leaving my brother here with you, Torsten, if that's what's troubling you," Jacob snapped.

His captor acquiesced. Torsten took the lead, and Jacob followed him up the small ladder to the main deck and squinted as his eyes adjusted to the harsh sunlight. There were a dozen or more of Torsten's men manning posts along the deck, tending the sails, and two at the wheel. Jacob had counted another five or six while he'd made his way up from below deck. He couldn't see pistols or blades, but they were certain to be armed. Two against two dozen were not good odds…but maybe Jacob could even those odds. The coastline was, as Jacob hoped, directly ahead, and Torsten guided him to the bow of the ship. There was no small sarcasm in the man's tone as he asked, "Will this do?"

Jacob nodded---not to Torsten, but to himself. This was exactly what he'd hoped would happen. He drew a deep breath and said a silent prayer. _Here we go._

Making another show of studying the shoreline, Jacob answered: "There! That peak. I remember the rock formations from the map…" He pointed at a random set of hills dead ahead…at least, it looked that was from Torsten's point-of-view. From Jacob's line of sight, his outstretched arm and finger were aimed directly at the wooden maiden figurehead, _Adalia_, carved into the front of her namesake ship.

Oblivious, Torsten asked, "You're sure?"

"Yes. The map called the formation the 'Three Thieves'…or I think that's the translation. In Latin, it's called----" Jacob began Serya's incantation.

He spoke only a few words of the spell before Torsten, well versed in Latin, realized what the boy was up to. "That's a spell!" he cried a warning to Jorn and the other men on the deck, knowing they'd never reach Jacob in time to silence the boy. Torsten himself lunged and grabbed Jacob around the neck, squeezing off his breath.

Jacob clawed at the fingers constricting around his windpipe, loosening Torsten's grip just enough to breathe the last two words of Serya's spell. However, the last two words slipped out in the same instant that Torsten flung Jacob roughly to the deck. Jacob's hand swung from aiming at the wooden maiden to graze the sides of the ship and then its planks.

All hell broke loose.

Men who'd been trying to restrain—and silence—Jacob now froze as the _Adalia_ groaned like a living thing in agony and rage as the enchantment spread outward to encompass the whole of the ship rather than being confined to the figurehead at the bow. As every pair of eyes on that deck watched in mounting dread of what was coming, they forgot Jacob altogether. A second groan, like the bellow of a monster heralded the onset of Jacob's spell.

The deck below their feet came to life. Planks of once-living wood pulled themselves free of their nails with ear-splitting screeches of metal and wood. Jorn, who'd been standing right beside Jacob, was catapulted into the air by one such plank when it popped up beneath his feet. The behemoth---and the bucket containing the pendant---disappeared over the side of the ship. Jacob could not hear the splash as Jorn hit the ocean for the din of the groaning ship and the screams of the men who'd shanghaied the vessel. More of Jorn's comrades followed in quick succession. Jacob heard thumps as men below were propelled straight up only to collide brutally with the unyielding decks above their heads. Men who'd tried to flee the planks by heading below deck were thwarted as doors and hatches came to life like snapping jaws and trapped those foolish enough to attempt passage.

Their woes had only just begun. As Jacob looked on—the only one immune by virtue of having been the one to initiate the spell---ropes, woven from once living fibers, began unfurling themselves from the sails. The ropes lashed out like tentacles and began to ensnare the men who'd managed to evade the flailing planks. The planks hampered the men's efforts to flee the snaking ropes. Men were caught around their ankles and dangled like fish on hooks or dunked in and out of the rolling sea…the lucky ones, anyway. Some were caught around their waists by the constricting ropes, and a few very unlucky ones were caught around their throats. Only Jacob, by virtue of being the one who had uttered the enchantment, was immune from the onslaught.

Torsten looked suitably frightened now. "Undo it, Jacob!" he ordered, drawing his pistol and aiming it at Jacob's forehead.

" I'm making 'a slight alteration of our bargain', Torsten." There was no shame in breaking his word to a liar as far as Jacob was concerned, especially with his life and Will's at stake. "I free Will, _then_ I reverse the spell and you're welcome to the Altar des Feuer after I'm done with it. Keys." Jacob held out his hand, his bravado growing in the face of Torsten's obvious terror. He'd only meant to bring the maiden figurehead to life, just to chase his captors around long enough to persuade Torsten to let Will go. Even Jacob hadn't guessed that the entire ship could become a living—and fighting—entity. _So much the better_.

The pistol remained poised at Jacob's forehead. Torsten's jaw twitched as he stared down at the boy, giving serious thought to abandoning hopes of obtaining the altar just to be rid of the nuisance Grimm brother.

Jacob had to force himself to watch Torsten instead of the pistol. "What? You're thinking of killing me? Go ahead. You won't survive long enough to regret losing your way to the altar. _Keys_!"

Torsten produced the keys without further delay. He passed them to Jacob.

Jacob had one more demand: "The Messer as well." The barrel pistol dug into Jacob's forehead in reply. "I'm not a murderer, Torsten. I've no particular wish to hurt you or your men. But I swear if you don't hand over that blade and set me and my brother free, I'll let this ship take us all down to the bottom of the sea!" Another crack of planks pulling themselves free punctuated Jacob's threat.

Torsten barely placed the blade in Jacob's hands when another shriek cut the air. This was not the groan of the living planks or the whoosh of the ropes or the cries of the men under siege. This scream was inhuman…and feminine. It was accompanied by more deafening noises of wood being splintered and sheared. The ship shuddered. Torsten and Jacob both turned to the maiden figurehead. As they watched, she came to life. There were cracking sounds of splintering wood as the figurehead ripping herself free of her perch at the bow of the _Adalia_. She began climbing the side of the ship, her wooden spear clutched in her mammoth hands. Her wooden eyes were locked onto Torsten.

"Gerit Torsten, meet Adalia… the guardian and avenger of this ship and its crew. Your 'unfortunate casualties being part of her crew, of course," Jacob couldn't help but gloat. Torsten had certainly caused him and his brother no small amount of misery on this journey, after all.

Jacob rolled away from Torsten, who had forgotten the boy. The older man was riveted in horror at the sight of the towering wooden figure lumbering towards him. Transfixed, Torsten didn't have the presence of mind to do so much as scream. "The wise course of action would be a retreat. A _rapid_ retreat." Jacob suggested to the man before hurrying out of the figurehead's path.

Taking the boy's advice, the older man fled even as the wooden maiden Adalia pursued Torsten along the length of the ship and the planks attempted to fling him over the rail and the ropes snaked after him. This madness was simply too much for some of his men, and they jumped overboard of their own volition rather than face the wrath of the living ship.

Satisfied that Torsten and his henchmen were distracted, Jacob raced along the deck, heading back to retrieve his brother. The planks obediently stilled before him while all around him chaos reigned.

None of them had time to see the wheel, unmanned as the man posted there was now being swung by his ankles from ropes of the main mast, begin to turn itself. The _Adalia_ changed its course and headed for a stretch of large, jagged rocks near the shoreline.

Down below in the cargo hold, the chilling roar had almost shattered Will's eardrums. He'd clapped his shackled hands over his ears against the din while around him the ship shuddered and groaned. _Don't tell me Jake's absurd plan actually worked…?_ Jacob had babbled about 'figurehead guardians' and 'formerly living fibers' and something about the one who casts the spell being immune to its effects.

The one who cast the spell. _What about the ones who _didn't_ cast the spell? What about prisoners? What happens to them?_ Will wondered in rapidly mounting panic.

A second groan and something knocked Will from his feet. The ends of the planks below his feet were pulling free of their bindings and bucking like horses. The ship was shuddering as planks along its hull snapped open and shut, allowing water to gush in, stemming the flow, and then allowing water in again. Will was splashed in the face by the on/off torrents while at the same time he was bounced around by the boards. Saltwater began to pool in the small hold.

And then the planks above his head began peeling themselves back to make a gaping hole. Sunlight blinded him as he glanced up in dread of what would happen next. He saw the gush of water sweep some of Torsten's man past the hole. Some were bedeviled not just by the planks and the water, but also by barrels of grease and oil that had been upended by the flailing boards and spilled across the planks. Any chances of fleeing the ship were thwarted by the lack of traction on the slippery stuff. Will also heard cries all around, most of it cries of human terror…some of it inhuman screams. Will didn't care to know the source of that sound.

Then, as he watched haplessly, a length of rope coiled through the holes in the deck straight for him. The rope tried to grab his neck, but Will feinted aside. The rope instead coiled around his ankle. Before he knew what was happening, the rope tried to pull him up through the hole. The chains around his wrists held him back, and Will soon found himself hanging upside down, the prize in a tug-of-war between the rope and the shackles. He was going to be torn in two if he couldn't get free.

"_Jake!_" Will shouted at the top of his lungs.

Jacob found his way back to the cabin he'd briefly occupied before his capture. The doors stilled to grant him entrance to the room. The wooden furniture was leaping about the room, but also calmed itself in his presence. His belongings had been scattered---whether by the thrashing furniture or by the indelicate searches of Torsten's men he would never know. Jacob frantically searched for the one item he most needed. _Where is it, where is it…._ He prayed it hadn't fallen through one of the holes made by the bucking planks or it was lost forever. _Where---_?

On cue, the object of his search rolled itself from beneath the bunk and stopped before Jacob. The wooden pendant stood itself on end and its cord of woven fibers whipped in a circle that looked almost like a wave of greeting. When Jacob opened his hand, the pendant leaped into his palm and fell still.

"That's helpful," Jacob grinned.

Will's arms burned, his legs burned, and his insides were being stretched almost to the breaking point. He'd tried to reason with the ropes---"_I'm not one of Torsten's men_!"---but the animated inanimate objects were unimpressed and pulled relentlessly at him while the chains refused to give. He couldn't survive this much longer and there was not one sign of his foolish brother to be seen from Will's inverted position.

What he did see was the lantern.

It was only a few inches from his nose, now that he was suspended upside down while the ropes tried to tug him through the gap in the ceiling. Will stretched his hands to the lamp, straining against the pull of the chains, flipped open the casing and snatched up the candle burning inside. Pulling against the inhuman power of the rope, Will tried to bend his legs towards his arm and put the candle to the rope. From his pain-distorted perspective, it took an eternity for the flame to burn through the rope, but finally the charred fibers snapped.

Will fell, still in the grip of the chains, and landed roughly in the seawater filling the hold, water which was now up to his waist. He dropped the candle when he landed, and it plunged into the water and died at once. It didn't matter. All Will cared about was the end of the torture of his arms, legs, and midsection…

His respite was short lived. There was a snapping noise and two more ropes snaked down through the hole in the decking. They coiled themselves like snakes around Will's neck and yanked him upwards before he had time to react. Will tugged at the unyielding cords as the ropes began to choke him. "That's---not---right!" he wheezed.

_Where the hell was Jake!_

Jacob dashed from his former quarters and raced to the ladders that descended to the lower decks. Through gaping holes where planks had pried themselves free, Jacob saw men scattering on the lower decks, some being bowled over by wooden barrels of water, whale oil, and grease, others attempting to climb ladders that had come alive to buck and teeter-totter to toss off their hapless passengers. When one ladder stilled to grant Jacob passage, a dozen men climbed over him in their haste to scale the ladder to reach the main deck.

The cargo hold where Will was imprisoned was two more levels down. When Jacob reached the spot he calculated was directly above the hold, he found another gaping hole in the decking. A rope descended through that hole from the mail sail above, down through two levels in the decks, straight down to….

"Will!" Through the gap in the decks, Jacob saw that the rope had coiled itself around his brother's neck and was choking the life out of him.

Will wasn't sure the voice calling his name was real. It sounded like Jacob, shouting from very far away. He couldn't so much as squeak out a word in response to the call as the ropes constricted all the tighter around his throat. Darkness was beginning to ebb into his vision, making the world blurry and far away….

Reacting on instinct, Jacob grabbed the rope that was strangling his brother. Immediately, it slackened to lifelessness in his grip. As the coils around his neck slackened, Will sagged and disappeared into the water filling the hold.

"_Will_!" Jacob shouted once more. Clutching the rope, Jacob slid down through the gap, descending so fast that the ropes burned his hand, and plunged into the waist-deep, icy seawater. _He hadn't meant for the enchantment to get this far out of control_….

Jacob snatched Will by the scruff of his neck and hauled him out of the water. _No, please, please don't be dead,_ _I can't be responsible…not again…._Jacob silently pleaded a panicked and incoherent prayer. His trembling hand went to his brother's throat, seeking out and finding a pulse. Will's breathing was raspy, but he _was_ breathing.

Greatly relieved, Jacob's still-shaky hands fumbled for the keys in his pockets and unlocked the shackles binding Will. Next, he took the pendant and gingerly hung it around Will's bruised neck. The ropes recoiled from the talisman and the bucking and jumping planks and ladders in the small cargo hold stilled. The pendant would ward off ropes and…whatever else came along. At least, Jacob hoped so.

At the jolt as he was suddenly freed from his bindings, Will's eyes opened a slit.

"Are you all right?" Jacob asked, tying the now-slack and dormant ropes under Will's arms in preparation to haul his brother out of the hold.

Will's voice was little more than a whisper. "From now on…I make the plans…in this family." Then his eyes closed again.

Only a few feet from the railing and the safety of the ocean that surrounded the _Adalia_, Torsten stumbled and fell…the deck beneath his feet had worked to trip him up while the figurehead closed in behind him. As soon as he fell, the wooden maiden was upon him. He saw her from the corner of his eye as she hefted her weapon, and he had but a split-second to roll aside as her massive sword arched downwards for a killing blow. The blow would have cut him in two had Torsten not managed to dodge out of its path. Instead, the sword shattered the railing on its downward strike and, with its momentum and enormous length, cut through the hull and sliced into the main deck and the two levels below, and became embedded.

The wooden figurehead emitted another ear-shattering, inhuman keen as she tried to pull her weapon free. Torsten wasted not one more second and used the diversion to scramble over the side of the ship and dive into the ocean. He swam for the shore without looking back.

The combined power of the figurehead's cry as she fought to recover her weapon and the sword lodged three-levels deep into the bowels of the ship formed cracks in every deck of the ship. Each successive cry from the maiden and every tug as she struggled with her weapon, made the cracks spread longer and wider. The ship groaned like a living, wounded thing, with no one left aboard to hear except Jacob and the semi-conscious Wilhelm.

The impact of the maiden's weapon jolted Jacob---who was lugging his brother towards to ladders that led to the main deck---off his feet. He fell, dragging Will down with him. This, however, was a stroke of good luck that saved both brothers from a grisly demise when the sword sliced through the hull and the planks and lodged itself in the planks only a few feet in front of them. Jacob threw himself across his unconscious brother as splinters of wood flew and bits of broken planks rained down upon them. The screech of the figurehead's cry filled the air until Jacob feared his eardrums would burst from the din.

He felt the deck beneath them shake and dared to lift his head to see what was happening now. Jacob saw the sword embedded in the timbers; he couldn't see her, but he knew that, on the main deck, the maiden was trying to dislodge it and the ship was lurching with each attempt to pull it free. A massive crack formed in the planks. It spread rapidly down the length of the deck…snaking towards the spot where Jacob and Will had fallen. Jacob wished the mindless figurehead would stop her antics before she tore the ship apart…

…and belatedly realized he was the only one with the power to stop the maiden. Hurriedly, he took the journal from his pocket and searched for the proper words to reverse the spell he'd cast.

The main deck having been abandoned by those who'd survived the onslaught of the suddenly animated ship, no one was present to shout a warning to the brothers below when the _Adalia_ finally reached the massive boulders that protruded from the waters near the shoreline and smashed itself into the rocks.

The impact of the mammoth rocks against the already damaged and compromised hull of the vessel was simply more than the ship could withstand. The cracks in the decks formed by the maiden's weapon became large splits down the middle of the boat, from bow to stern.

The words to end the spell were barely out of Jacob's mouth when the _Adalia_ scuttled itself. Jacob and Will were pitched against the hull and then rolled backwards into the corner. Jacob struggled to keep his grip on his brother's inert form with one hand and his journal with the other.

The crack in the deck widened into a chasm. As Jacob watched, seawater swirled upwards from that chasm…_No,_ he corrected his observation, _the water was not rising. The boat was sinking._ The chasm snaked towards the brothers while water spilled over the planks. It crashed into the brothers, nearly tearing Will from Jacob's grip. The surge of water was too powerful; Jacob could not hold on to him without both hands. He dropped his book and wrapped both arms around his brother and hung on with all his strength. The water swept the journal into the chasm and out into the sea.

"Will…" Jacob shook his sibling hard as he could, trying to alert him to the mortal peril they were in, but Will grunted faintly and would not be roused. "_Will_!"

Then the gap was upon them.

With no avenue of escape, Jacob could only hold onto his brother with all his might as the deck pitched beneath them and sent them both rolling off the planks and into the dark, frigid water.

**9**

The worst part of the "plan" was the interminable waiting in the cargo hold, more often than not in the awkward silence that had settled between them and bereft of any sense of time, but wait the brothers did. Their abductors, distinguishable by the heavy clop of booted feet on the deck overhead, opened the hatch only for tasks necessary to keep their hostages alive and in some semblance of health, just a few times each day---or what the brothers presumed to be each day. The dead bodies of the _Adalia's_ crewmen had been removed, mercifully.

When finally, after many such 'days' passed, they heard the lighter gait that they knew to be Gerit Torsten's and the scrape of the hatch opening, both brothers tensed. Will was not convinced Jacob's plan would succeed, but had hadn't come up with any alternative schemes during their captivity…non that would wouldn't end with them shot, stabbed, or drowned at least.

Torsten was followed into the hold by the lumbering Jorn, who toted a large metal bucket with his still-bandaged arm. Will was not at all reassured by the fact that Torsten had tucked a pistol into his belt, in plain view of his prisoners, for this conversation. It would seem the leader of their captors was in no mood for further delays. That could be a problem considering the game that the brothers had planned for him.

"Scotland ahead, gentlemen. Time to keep your part of our bargain. Let's have the book," Torsten greeted. His attention was riveted to the book in Jacob's hands. He scowled at the pendant encircling the journal. "But first," he added, pointing to the charm, "you won't mind discarding that talisman of yours into the bucket?" Jorn moved forward, holding out the bucket, staring at the pendant in an expression of disdain and fear.

Jacob made no move to comply. Will answered for both of them: "Our bargain was that you'd take us to shore, set us free, and _then_ you'd have the book." He held up his shackled wrists meaningfully.

Torsten's jaw twitched a bit. "This is a mere alteration of our bargain. Rest assured, you'll be free when we've destroyed the altar."

Will scratched his chin, making a show of contemplating the proposal with a casualness he certainly did not feel. He kept one eye on Torsten's pistol while he spoke: "I'm wondering if we need to clarify our terms? When I say 'free', I mean 'released from captivity to go on about our lives---and what a lovely time it's been meeting all of you'. I don't mean 'free of our mortal coils', if that's your interpretation of our agreement." He snapped the chain around his wrist again for emphasis.

The hand closest to Torsten's weapon twitched, just a bit. He kneeled so that, once more, he was eye-to-eye with the younger men. "I don't enjoy having to kill, Will---"

"Tell the _Adalia_'s crew," Jacob scoffed from his side of the room.

Torsten was unapologetic. "Unfortunate casualties. Those two would be alive if they'd done as we asked like the rest of their shipmates did…and your should learn from their mistakes, Jacob." Jorn held out the bucket again. Jacob again ignored the order.

"Fine attitude from a priest," Will commented.

"He's not a priest, Will." Jacob watched Torsten's face to see how the man reacted to that revelation. "He's part of an underground society who split from the church. They took matters into their own hands tracking down the Desdemondians and destroying the artifacts because they thought the church was too lenient about letting people with knowledge of the cult survive. Only a member of that society would have so much detailed information about the cult."

Torsten wasn't surprised by that revelation, but Will was caught off-guard. That information hadn't been in Jacob's book. _Which meant_--- "Father Traugott wasn't a priest, was he?"

"Asute observation, Will. No, that 'Traugott' was one of our own…unfortunately, Jacob slipped away from him before I could reach Hollenstadt, so it was quite fortunate you came along when you did, or we might have lost Jacob's trail altogether. Gaining your confidence meant providing you with a bit more information about that blasphemous cult than we would have liked, but well worth it." Misinterpreting Will's dismay, Torsten added, "But don't fret…the real Father Traugott is happy and safe at a church in Hamburg."

Torsten's lips curled upwards a bit. He was impressed with both boys in spite of himself. Turning back to the younger Grimm, he said, "And you uncovered more in your studies that I thought, Jacob. I don't supposed there'd be a point in asking you to join us? A scholar of your intelligence would be of great help in our work."

"I don't suppose," Jacob declined.

Torsten accepted that. "The pendant, Jacob, and the book, if you will."

Will mentally braced himself. In the next minute or so, Jacob would hand over the journal—sans map and all references to the altar---for their lives and the plan would either pay off---or they'd both be shot. _Jake could at least have the courtesy to look nervous…_

Jacob shook his head, "The book won't do you any good, Torsten."

Torsten raised an eyebrow, but played along. "And why is that?"

"I tore out the pages pertaining to the Altar and the Messer before I ever left the book with Will." There was enough truth to that for Jacob to tell the lie convincingly. Besides, where Torsten and his methods were involved, Jacob had no qualms or remorse about fibs, lies, or exaggerations whatsoever. There was more than his and Will's lives at stake. "I knew that if Will had the location of the _Anhängers vom Messer des Feuer_, that would be reason enough for you to kill him."

Without even batting an eye, Torsten removed the pistol from his belt. He leveled it squarely at Will's head and fired.

Having made his point, Torsten kept the weapon trained on Will. "The map," he demanded again.

Pale and shaken, Jacob hurried to add: "I have the map right here." He pointed to his own temple, the slight tremor of his hand betraying how badly Torsten had shaken him with that demonstration. Swallowing the painful lump in his throat, Jacob made his expression stoic and continued, his voice unwavering: "Since you aren't as good as your word, Torsten, we're going to renegotiate our terms: Take us up to the main deck. I'll show you where to make anchor closest to the trail that leads to the altar as a show of good faith. For your part, you and your men give Will a boat and let him go---_alive_, mind you…"

Will turned to glare at Jacob. "That wasn't what we deci----" he argued. The plan had been for both Will and Jacob to be given a boat and set free and Jacob would reproduce the map, _not_ for Will to go and Jacob to stay behind. _What the hell did Jacob think he was doing!_

Jacob ignored him completely. "For _my_ part, as a show of good faith, I'll stay behind and lead you the rest of the way to the altar and you can do whatever you want with it. And, unlike you, Torsten, I _am_ as good as my word."

"You will not--!" Will barked at his brother. A snap of Torsten's finger, and Jorn was at Will's side in two steps, shoving a rag into the young man's mouth to silence further interruptions. Will knew Torsten had no intention of keeping his word, and, when Jacob glanced sidelong at Will, the single look was enough to tell Will what he needed to know: Jacob had never planned to escape Torsten… nor had his brother abandoned his quest for the altar.

Torsten quietly mulled over the offer. He didn't trust Jacob; that much was clear in his eyes. That was fine with Jacob---he didn't trust Torsten either. The man had no intention of releasing Will; Jacob knew that, too. Jacob only had to buy enough time to get himself to the main deck and what Torsten intended wouldn't matter any more. Jacob wasn't half as worried about slipping away from their captor as he was about what he was going to do about eluding Will once they did get away from Torsten…

Finally, Torsten stood. Tucking the pistol back into his belt, he said, "Show me the book. If it's as you say, we have an agreement." He raised his voice to drown out the protests of the confused Will to add: "And discard that pendant---as a show of 'good faith'."

Without hesitation, Jacob removed the talisman and tossed it at Jorn, who shrank back in fear of touching the charm before it landed harmlessly in the bucket. Torsten pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked Jacob's shackles. Jacob stood, stretching out the kinks and pains of spending too long sitting in the confined position. Grudgingly, he allowed Torsten to take the journal and inspect the pages until the man was satisfied that all references to the Desdemondians had been removed…especially the map. He tossed the useless book back to its owner, admonishing: "If you can't deliver what you've promised, lad…"

"I'll be dead and you'll be no worse off than you are now, so it won't matter, will it?" Jacob finished.

Torsten could say nothing to that. He stepped aside to allow Jacob access to the ladder.

Without a backwards glance at his brother, Jacob climbed out of the hatch.

As they made their way from the cargo hold to the deck, Jorn in the lead, followed by Jacob and Torsten, Jacob concentrated on memorizing the way back to the prison and noting how many guards had been posted along the way. He'd be in a very large hurry when he returned to the cargo hold---if everything went as Jacob hoped. There was no lock on the outside of the hatch, just a bolt that held it shut. That was good, but not good enough. Torsten still had the Messer and the keys to Will's shackles. Jacob was going to need both.

"We've been searching for the Messer des Feuer for over a thousand years, Jacob, and you come across it after a few years in Heidelberg," Torsten was saying as Jacob half-listened. "I'm nearly ashamed to call myself an expert on the Desdemondians after being shown up by a boy that way. Tell me, what clue did I miss?"

There was no harm in indulging his curiosity, Jacob decided. "Luck."

The older man harrumphed. "I have no idea what that means."

Jacob hid his grin. "Idle bar room bragging. But, I don't guess you get to spend much time in pubs?" Torsten did not disagree. "I'd tell you Torsten, but if you're as informed as I think you are, I'd be tipping my hand too soon." Torsten might not lend and ear to bar room bragging, but Jacob would wager he'd made himself an expert on all accounts mystical, scientific, or magical in his search for the altar. Simply breathing the words '_Francois Penegrast' _might sufficiently connect the dots for Torsten to discern the altar's location on his own…and then Jacob would have nothing at all to trade for his life or Will's and no hope of laying eyes on the altar, much less using it to save his Sister.

Torsten chuckled at that. "Then, perhaps you'll satisfy my curiosity about how you knew of the altar and the Desdemondians to begin with? I thought we'd destroyed all the scrolls and books mentioning their cult centuries ago. What did I miss?"

"That's the thing I've learned about myths and legends," Jacob answered, "Stories survive because people love to tell them and other people love to hear them…particularly stories no one wants retold. You can torch every library, every scroll, between England and the Heiliggeistkirche and nothing will change that."

The older man couldn't deny that point. "Collecting myths and pursuing them are two entirely different matters, Mr. Grimm. I'm told by your teachers that you're partial to mythology involving death and resurrection---Eurydice, Savitri, Altar des Feuer." Torsten stopped walking, regarding Jacob with an almost paternal manner. Jacob also paused. "If you're open to friendly advice, then keep this in mind: It's a _myth_, Jacob. If you believe it to be anything more, you're not as clever as I'd thought. I'm sure you love whomever it is that's making you chase phantoms and superstitions---but all you'll find in the pursuit of the supernatural is the grave. _Your_ grave if you don't use the considerable wits I think God gave you."

They were one floor below the main deck now, high enough that there were portals to afford a view of the approaching shoreline. Torsten beckoned Jacob to one of the windows. "So, then, which way, Jacob?"

Jacob peered through the portal, pretending to examine the features of the coastline. "I can't see very well from here. Can we go up for a better vantage?"

Torsten stared at him suspiciously now.

"I've no intention of jumping overboard and leaving my brother here with you, Torsten, if that's what's troubling you," Jacob snapped.

His captor acquiesced. Torsten took the lead, and Jacob followed him up the small ladder to the main deck and squinted as his eyes adjusted to the harsh sunlight. There were a dozen or more of Torsten's men manning posts along the deck, tending the sails, and two at the wheel. Jacob had counted another five or six while he'd made his way up from below deck. He couldn't see pistols or blades, but they were certain to be armed. Two against two dozen were not good odds…but maybe Jacob could even those odds. The coastline was, as Jacob hoped, directly ahead, and Torsten guided him to the bow of the ship. There was no small sarcasm in the man's tone as he asked, "Will this do?"

Jacob nodded---not to Torsten, but to himself. This was exactly what he'd hoped would happen. He drew a deep breath and said a silent prayer. _Here we go._

Making another show of studying the shoreline, Jacob answered: "There! That peak. I remember the rock formations from the map…" He pointed at a random set of hills dead ahead…at least, it looked that was from Torsten's point-of-view. From Jacob's line of sight, his outstretched arm and finger were aimed directly at the wooden maiden figurehead, _Adalia_, carved into the front of her namesake ship.

Oblivious, Torsten asked, "You're sure?"

"Yes. The map called the formation the 'Three Thieves'…or I think that's the translation. In Latin, it's called----" Jacob began Serya's incantation.

He spoke only a few words of the spell before Torsten, well versed in Latin, realized what the boy was up to. "That's a spell!" he cried a warning to Jorn and the other men on the deck, knowing they'd never reach Jacob in time to silence the boy. Torsten himself lunged and grabbed Jacob around the neck, squeezing off his breath.

Jacob clawed at the fingers constricting around his windpipe, loosening Torsten's grip just enough to breathe the last two words of Serya's spell. However, the last two words slipped out in the same instant that Torsten flung Jacob roughly to the deck. Jacob's hand swung from aiming at the wooden maiden to graze the sides of the ship and then its planks.

All hell broke loose.

Men who'd been trying to restrain—and silence—Jacob now froze as the _Adalia_ groaned like a living thing in agony and rage as the enchantment spread outward to encompass the whole of the ship rather than being confined to the figurehead at the bow. As every pair of eyes on that deck watched in mounting dread of what was coming, they forgot Jacob altogether. A second groan, like the bellow of a monster heralded the onset of Jacob's spell.

The deck below their feet came to life. Planks of once-living wood pulled themselves free of their nails with ear-splitting screeches of metal and wood. Jorn, who'd been standing right beside Jacob, was catapulted into the air by one such plank when it popped up beneath his feet. The behemoth---and the bucket containing the pendant---disappeared over the side of the ship. Jacob could not hear the splash as Jorn hit the ocean for the din of the groaning ship and the screams of the men who'd shanghaied the vessel. More of Jorn's comrades followed in quick succession. Jacob heard thumps as men below were propelled straight up only to collide brutally with the unyielding decks above their heads. Men who'd tried to flee the planks by heading below deck were thwarted as doors and hatches came to life like snapping jaws and trapped those foolish enough to attempt passage.

Their woes had only just begun. As Jacob looked on—the only one immune by virtue of having been the one to initiate the spell---ropes, woven from once living fibers, began unfurling themselves from the sails. The ropes lashed out like tentacles and began to ensnare the men who'd managed to evade the flailing planks. The planks hampered the men's efforts to flee the snaking ropes. Men were caught around their ankles and dangled like fish on hooks or dunked in and out of the rolling sea…the lucky ones, anyway. Some were caught around their waists by the constricting ropes, and a few very unlucky ones were caught around their throats. Only Jacob, by virtue of being the one who had uttered the enchantment, was immune from the onslaught.

Torsten looked suitably frightened now. "Undo it, Jacob!" he ordered, drawing his pistol and aiming it at Jacob's forehead.

" I'm making 'a slight alteration of our bargain', Torsten." There was no shame in breaking his word to a liar as far as Jacob was concerned, especially with his life and Will's at stake. "I free Will, _then_ I reverse the spell and you're welcome to the Altar des Feuer after I'm done with it. Keys." Jacob held out his hand, his bravado growing in the face of Torsten's obvious terror. He'd only meant to bring the maiden figurehead to life, just to chase his captors around long enough to persuade Torsten to let Will go. Even Jacob hadn't guessed that the entire ship could become a living—and fighting—entity. _So much the better_.

The pistol remained poised at Jacob's forehead. Torsten's jaw twitched as he stared down at the boy, giving serious thought to abandoning hopes of obtaining the altar just to be rid of the nuisance Grimm brother.

Jacob had to force himself to watch Torsten instead of the pistol. "What? You're thinking of killing me? Go ahead. You won't survive long enough to regret losing your way to the altar. _Keys_!"

Torsten produced the keys without further delay. He passed them to Jacob.

Jacob had one more demand: "The Messer as well." The barrel pistol dug into Jacob's forehead in reply. "I'm not a murderer, Torsten. I've no particular wish to hurt you or your men. But I swear if you don't hand over that blade and set me and my brother free, I'll let this ship take us all down to the bottom of the sea!" Another crack of planks pulling themselves free punctuated Jacob's threat.

Torsten barely placed the blade in Jacob's hands when another shriek cut the air. This was not the groan of the living planks or the whoosh of the ropes or the cries of the men under siege. This scream was inhuman…and feminine. It was accompanied by more deafening noises of wood being splintered and sheared. The ship shuddered. Torsten and Jacob both turned to the maiden figurehead. As they watched, she came to life. There were cracking sounds of splintering wood as the figurehead ripping herself free of her perch at the bow of the _Adalia_. She began climbing the side of the ship, her wooden spear clutched in her mammoth hands. Her wooden eyes were locked onto Torsten.

"Gerit Torsten, meet Adalia… the guardian and avenger of this ship and its crew. Your 'unfortunate casualties being part of her crew, of course," Jacob couldn't help but gloat. Torsten had certainly caused him and his brother no small amount of misery on this journey, after all.

Jacob rolled away from Torsten, who had forgotten the boy. The older man was riveted in horror at the sight of the towering wooden figure lumbering towards him. Transfixed, Torsten didn't have the presence of mind to do so much as scream. "The wise course of action would be a retreat. A _rapid_ retreat." Jacob suggested to the man before hurrying out of the figurehead's path.

Taking the boy's advice, the older man fled even as the wooden maiden Adalia pursued Torsten along the length of the ship and the planks attempted to fling him over the rail and the ropes snaked after him. This madness was simply too much for some of his men, and they jumped overboard of their own volition rather than face the wrath of the living ship.

Satisfied that Torsten and his henchmen were distracted, Jacob raced along the deck, heading back to retrieve his brother. The planks obediently stilled before him while all around him chaos reigned.

None of them had time to see the wheel, unmanned as the man posted there was now being swung by his ankles from ropes of the main mast, begin to turn itself. The _Adalia_ changed its course and headed for a stretch of large, jagged rocks near the shoreline.

Down below in the cargo hold, the chilling roar had almost shattered Will's eardrums. He'd clapped his shackled hands over his ears against the din while around him the ship shuddered and groaned. _Don't tell me Jake's absurd plan actually worked…?_ Jacob had babbled about 'figurehead guardians' and 'formerly living fibers' and something about the one who casts the spell being immune to its effects.

The one who cast the spell. _What about the ones who _didn't_ cast the spell? What about prisoners? What happens to them?_ Will wondered in rapidly mounting panic.

A second groan and something knocked Will from his feet. The ends of the planks below his feet were pulling free of their bindings and bucking like horses. The ship was shuddering as planks along its hull snapped open and shut, allowing water to gush in, stemming the flow, and then allowing water in again. Will was splashed in the face by the on/off torrents while at the same time he was bounced around by the boards. Saltwater began to pool in the small hold.

And then the planks above his head began peeling themselves back to make a gaping hole. Sunlight blinded him as he glanced up in dread of what would happen next. He saw the gush of water sweep some of Torsten's man past the hole. Some were bedeviled not just by the planks and the water, but also by barrels of grease and oil that had been upended by the flailing boards and spilled across the planks. Any chances of fleeing the ship were thwarted by the lack of traction on the slippery stuff. Will also heard cries all around, most of it cries of human terror…some of it inhuman screams. Will didn't care to know the source of that sound.

Then, as he watched haplessly, a length of rope coiled through the holes in the deck straight for him. The rope tried to grab his neck, but Will feinted aside. The rope instead coiled around his ankle. Before he knew what was happening, the rope tried to pull him up through the hole. The chains around his wrists held him back, and Will soon found himself hanging upside down, the prize in a tug-of-war between the rope and the shackles. He was going to be torn in two if he couldn't get free.

"_Jake!_" Will shouted at the top of his lungs.

Jacob found his way back to the cabin he'd briefly occupied before his capture. The doors stilled to grant him entrance to the room. The wooden furniture was leaping about the room, but also calmed itself in his presence. His belongings had been scattered---whether by the thrashing furniture or by the indelicate searches of Torsten's men he would never know. Jacob frantically searched for the one item he most needed. _Where is it, where is it…._ He prayed it hadn't fallen through one of the holes made by the bucking planks or it was lost forever. _Where---_?

On cue, the object of his search rolled itself from beneath the bunk and stopped before Jacob. The wooden pendant stood itself on end and its cord of woven fibers whipped in a circle that looked almost like a wave of greeting. When Jacob opened his hand, the pendant leaped into his palm and fell still.

"That's helpful," Jacob grinned.

Will's arms burned, his legs burned, and his insides were being stretched almost to the breaking point. He'd tried to reason with the ropes---"_I'm not one of Torsten's men_!"---but the animated inanimate objects were unimpressed and pulled relentlessly at him while the chains refused to give. He couldn't survive this much longer and there was not one sign of his foolish brother to be seen from Will's inverted position.

What he did see was the lantern.

It was only a few inches from his nose, now that he was suspended upside down while the ropes tried to tug him through the gap in the ceiling. Will stretched his hands to the lamp, straining against the pull of the chains, flipped open the casing and snatched up the candle burning inside. Pulling against the inhuman power of the rope, Will tried to bend his legs towards his arm and put the candle to the rope. From his pain-distorted perspective, it took an eternity for the flame to burn through the rope, but finally the charred fibers snapped.

Will fell, still in the grip of the chains, and landed roughly in the seawater filling the hold, water which was now up to his waist. He dropped the candle when he landed, and it plunged into the water and died at once. It didn't matter. All Will cared about was the end of the torture of his arms, legs, and midsection…

His respite was short lived. There was a snapping noise and two more ropes snaked down through the hole in the decking. They coiled themselves like snakes around Will's neck and yanked him upwards before he had time to react. Will tugged at the unyielding cords as the ropes began to choke him. "That's---not---right!" he wheezed.

_Where the hell was Jake!_

Jacob dashed from his former quarters and raced to the ladders that descended to the lower decks. Through gaping holes where planks had pried themselves free, Jacob saw men scattering on the lower decks, some being bowled over by wooden barrels of water, whale oil, and grease, others attempting to climb ladders that had come alive to buck and teeter-totter to toss off their hapless passengers. When one ladder stilled to grant Jacob passage, a dozen men climbed over him in their haste to scale the ladder to reach the main deck.

The cargo hold where Will was imprisoned was two more levels down. When Jacob reached the spot he calculated was directly above the hold, he found another gaping hole in the decking. A rope descended through that hole from the mail sail above, down through two levels in the decks, straight down to….

"Will!" Through the gap in the decks, Jacob saw that the rope had coiled itself around his brother's neck and was choking the life out of him.

Will wasn't sure the voice calling his name was real. It sounded like Jacob, shouting from very far away. He couldn't so much as squeak out a word in response to the call as the ropes constricted all the tighter around his throat. Darkness was beginning to ebb into his vision, making the world blurry and far away….

Reacting on instinct, Jacob grabbed the rope that was strangling his brother. Immediately, it slackened to lifelessness in his grip. As the coils around his neck slackened, Will sagged and disappeared into the water filling the hold.

"_Will_!" Jacob shouted once more. Clutching the rope, Jacob slid down through the gap, descending so fast that the ropes burned his hand, and plunged into the waist-deep, icy seawater. _He hadn't meant for the enchantment to get this far out of control_….

Jacob snatched Will by the scruff of his neck and hauled him out of the water. _No, please, please don't be dead,_ _I can't be responsible…not again…._Jacob silently pleaded a panicked and incoherent prayer. His trembling hand went to his brother's throat, seeking out and finding a pulse. Will's breathing was raspy, but he _was_ breathing.

Greatly relieved, Jacob's still-shaky hands fumbled for the keys in his pockets and unlocked the shackles binding Will. Next, he took the pendant and gingerly hung it around Will's bruised neck. The ropes recoiled from the talisman and the bucking and jumping planks and ladders in the small cargo hold stilled. The pendant would ward off ropes and…whatever else came along. At least, Jacob hoped so.

At the jolt as he was suddenly freed from his bindings, Will's eyes opened a slit.

"Are you all right?" Jacob asked, tying the now-slack and dormant ropes under Will's arms in preparation to haul his brother out of the hold.

Will's voice was little more than a whisper. "From now on…I make the plans…in this family." Then his eyes closed again.

Only a few feet from the railing and the safety of the ocean that surrounded the _Adalia_, Torsten stumbled and fell…the deck beneath his feet had worked to trip him up while the figurehead closed in behind him. As soon as he fell, the wooden maiden was upon him. He saw her from the corner of his eye as she hefted her weapon, and he had but a split-second to roll aside as her massive sword arched downwards for a killing blow. The blow would have cut him in two had Torsten not managed to dodge out of its path. Instead, the sword shattered the railing on its downward strike and, with its momentum and enormous length, cut through the hull and sliced into the main deck and the two levels below, and became embedded.

The wooden figurehead emitted another ear-shattering, inhuman keen as she tried to pull her weapon free. Torsten wasted not one more second and used the diversion to scramble over the side of the ship and dive into the ocean. He swam for the shore without looking back.

The combined power of the figurehead's cry as she fought to recover her weapon and the sword lodged three-levels deep into the bowels of the ship formed cracks in every deck of the ship. Each successive cry from the maiden and every tug as she struggled with her weapon, made the cracks spread longer and wider. The ship groaned like a living, wounded thing, with no one left aboard to hear except Jacob and the semi-conscious Wilhelm.

The impact of the maiden's weapon jolted Jacob---who was lugging his brother towards to ladders that led to the main deck---off his feet. He fell, dragging Will down with him. This, however, was a stroke of good luck that saved both brothers from a grisly demise when the sword sliced through the hull and the planks and lodged itself in the planks only a few feet in front of them. Jacob threw himself across his unconscious brother as splinters of wood flew and bits of broken planks rained down upon them. The screech of the figurehead's cry filled the air until Jacob feared his eardrums would burst from the din.

He felt the deck beneath them shake and dared to lift his head to see what was happening now. Jacob saw the sword embedded in the timbers; he couldn't see her, but he knew that, on the main deck, the maiden was trying to dislodge it and the ship was lurching with each attempt to pull it free. A massive crack formed in the planks. It spread rapidly down the length of the deck…snaking towards the spot where Jacob and Will had fallen. Jacob wished the mindless figurehead would stop her antics before she tore the ship apart…

…and belatedly realized he was the only one with the power to stop the maiden. Hurriedly, he took the journal from his pocket and searched for the proper words to reverse the spell he'd cast.

The main deck having been abandoned by those who'd survived the onslaught of the suddenly animated ship, no one was present to shout a warning to the brothers below when the _Adalia_ finally reached the massive boulders that protruded from the waters near the shoreline and smashed itself into the rocks.

The impact of the mammoth rocks against the already damaged and compromised hull of the vessel was simply more than the ship could withstand. The cracks in the decks formed by the maiden's weapon became large splits down the middle of the boat, from bow to stern.

The words to end the spell were barely out of Jacob's mouth when the _Adalia_ scuttled itself. Jacob and Will were pitched against the hull and then rolled backwards into the corner. Jacob struggled to keep his grip on his brother's inert form with one hand and his journal with the other.

The crack in the deck widened into a chasm. As Jacob watched, seawater swirled upwards from that chasm…_No,_ he corrected his observation, _the water was not rising. The boat was sinking._ The chasm snaked towards the brothers while water spilled over the planks. It crashed into the brothers, nearly tearing Will from Jacob's grip. The surge of water was too powerful; Jacob could not hold on to him without both hands. He dropped his book and wrapped both arms around his brother and hung on with all his strength. The water swept the journal into the chasm and out into the sea.

"Will…" Jacob shook his sibling hard as he could, trying to alert him to the mortal peril they were in, but Will grunted faintly and would not be roused. "_Will_!"

Then the gap was upon them.

With no avenue of escape, Jacob could only hold onto his brother with all his might as the deck pitched beneath them and sent them both rolling off the planks and into the dark, frigid water.


	10. Chapter 10

AUTHOR'S NOTE: _I don't own the characters (Miramax does) or the fairy tales referenced in this story. I'm not making one single penny off this story. (pauses) I wouldn't mind borrowing the boys for awhile though…_

_1) This is rated TEEN for a reason. There are some very adult themes and situations and angst in here and some violence. It deals with rather dark issues relating to familial rifts and deaths of family members (if you saw the movie, you know to what I'm referring). Can't handle, please don't read. 2) Although there are religious references in the story, nothing is based on any real people or cults. They were completely fabricated for plot purposes and if you see similarities to any real people or cults, you are squinting way too hard, if you know what I mean. Do _not _try anything you see in this story, boys and girls, because it's all made up stuff. So, if anyone flames for reasons of dark themes or religious references, I'm going to ignore it because I've given fair warning. 3) The opinions expressed by characters do not reflect the opinion of this writer._ _See Chapter One for the rest of the notes._

**10**

There was cold even in the dream. For the longest while, there was nothing else in his world but that cold and that familiar, infernal darkness. The whistle of the wind came next. It caressed his cold skin and turned flesh to ice. Her voice whispered his name again on that breeze and urged him to wakefulness.

Then came warmth…finally, miraculously…warmth that brought life back into frozen gooseflesh and drove back the blackness. It settled upon him like a physical weight, a welcome burden at that. The warmth waited there with him until Will Grimm finally found the strength to open his eyes.

With consciousness came panic: He was lying on his back and that weight remained, all over his body, so that he could hardly move from his feet up to his shoulders. All around him were sights so unfamiliar that he was convinced for a moment that he was still in the dream instead of the waking world. _Where am I? Why can't I move?_

The latter mystery was the easiest to solve. Somehow, Will had been placed on the grass, and lay hidden among fallen trees and boulders at the base of a hillside. Someone had covered him with overcoats and, for good measure, covered those coats with what scant leafs, small branches, and dirt could be found so that the combination formed something of a cocoon around him to ward off the cold of the outdoors. Not far from him, also sheltered from the wind and hidden by the hillside, was the dwindling remains of a small fire.

As for where he was, Will could make nothing out of his immediate surroundings. From his vantage, half-buried and flat on his back, he saw only the fire, trees, grass, gray clouds above, and the rolling hillside which graduated to towering, jagged, and forbidding-looking mountains. There was a roar in the distance that sounded like waves breaking on a beach, but he saw no sign of the ocean from his current position.

Will groaned. He was getting heartily sick of losing consciousness and waking to bizarre circumstances, that much was certain.

Images from the recurring dream of Sister overlapped with fragments of real memories---they _were_ real, weren't they? Will remembered a demonically possessed rope trying to kill him, remembered choking, and then what---?

_Jake._

Jacob had come back.

Will struggled free of the encumbering pile of coats, dirt, and sticks. Snippets of memories were still returning and he still wasn't sure which were real. He thought he remembered harsh cold washing over him, struggling to breathe as something—a hand?---forced his mouth closed and pinched his nose shut. _Water? Was that the cold?_ Had Jacob dragged him into the ocean for God's sake? Yes, that seemed a reasonable conclusion, given that they'd been aboard the _Adalia_ and now Will was very clearly on dry land (Saints be praised).

He moved, finally shoving aside the burden that pinned him down. His limbs ached from being immobile for too long. He frowned at the pile of coats he'd just dislodged. They were dry. They should have been soaked from the plunge Will assumed they'd made into the ocean. Will had been laying here long enough that the fire had dried the coats and his clothing. One coat was his. The other he recalled was Jake's. So, Will had his brother to thank for being buried in that odd tent of twigs and sand. _Of course, who else would it have been?_ _Torsten and his men would have put a pistol ball in Will's skull before they'd have gone to the trouble of dragging him ashore and saving him from freezing. _There were even stones, which had been laid in a circle around Will's shelter in a way that gave it the gruesome appearance of a gravesite. The very notion made him shudder.

Jake had to have got both of them off the boat and away from their captors. So, that insane scheme had worked. It had almost got them killed, but it had worked. _Unbelievable._ Will had a spotty memory---fuzzy and more surreal than the visions of Sister---of Jacob building the fire that now dwindled nearby, of Jacob heaping the coats onto him, of Jacob staring at him with a worried expression and mouthing words Will couldn't hear in his semiconscious fog…

Will sat straight up, glancing around. _Where was Jacob now?_ "Jake!" He'd meant to shout, but it came out a croak with his bruised neck and parched throat. He coughed and tried again, with marginally better results: "Jacob!"

No answer.

Will tried walking, stretching his cramped legs, and got his bearings while searching for some sign of his wayward sibling. He climbed the gentle slope of the hillside for a better view of the area. _Where had his foolish sibling gone off too_---? He could see the beach and the rocks from the hillside. The boat had hit something---or was that a dream? It couldn't have been a dream…there was no sign of the _Adalia_ now, but Will saw large timbers washing onto the beach even from this distance. Had anyone besides Will and Jacob survived the wreck? Were they marooned now…wherever this was? Scottland? The Hebrides? Will supposed it wasn't wise to should when Torsten's men might be alive and within earshot, especially after what the Grimm brothers had gone through to escape.

He glanced from the beach to the hill itself…and blanched when he got his first real look at the jagged mountain above. The mountain wasn't particularly imposing or sinister on its own…it was the formation of rocks at its summit that sent a fresh surge of dread into Will's weary soul. "Oh my God…"

The rocks formation was the perfect shape to resemble nothing so much as the sleeping man from Will's dream, from Sister's vision. Worse, the run-off of past rainfalls had etched a curving path along the hillside where he stood, identical in every way to the trail Sister had shown Will in the dream.

Seeing all this, Will knew two things at once:

First---this place was the lost island in the Scottish Hebrides and that mountain was the place where Desdemond's altar had been hidden.

Two—that mountain was where Will would find Jacob…God willing, before his brother found that altar.

Closer inspection of the nearby dirt path revealed the faint impression of a footprint—a recent one at that. _Jacob's?_ Will wondered.

Forgetting his half-frozen, aching limbs and the possibility that they weren't alone on this barren, rocky island, Will tore off along the trail towards the mountain and that ominous summit.

The longer he followed the trail, the deeper Will's fear grew. Staring at the sporadic prints in the dirt, he slowly discerned that the tracks were not Jake's alone. There were at least three distinct sets of recent boot prints. One set had obviously been made by a man with large feet who had lost his right shoe, for the right print had been made by a foot in a stocking. It must have been Torsten----Will didn't know how he knew that, he simply knew that Torsten was one of Jacob's pursuers---and one or more of his henchmen.

Will ran faster, as hard as he could. He had to find Jacob before they did.

"Grimm!"

The shout accompanied the crack of a pistol. One of Torsten's men had found a box of powder and shot, still dry, washed up on a lifeboat that had survived the wreck. But Jacob Grimm's damnable luck held: Torsten's shot went wild and the boy vanished into the boulder-dotted landscape of the mountain pass.

Torsten and the survivors with him still reeled from the unexpected events of the previous day. Torsten had set out originally with two-dozen men to capture Jacob Grimm. Fifteen remained, the rest had perished on the _Adalia_. Jorn was one of those among Torsten's men who'd managed to survive the unnatural attack from that living figurehead and reach the shore. Of the fifteen, only five would follow Torsten any farther. The rest had sufficiently lost their appetite to pursue the unpredictable Grimm boy. By dawn the next morning, after waiting out the night and the cold on what turned out to be a deserted Hebride island instead of the Scottish mainland, Torsten gave up on waiting for any more survivors to swim to shore. If they hadn't reached land by that time, he figured they weren't coming at all.

Salvaging whatever had floated ashore---one pistol and dry pistol shot a miraculous find---they'd set out to find the Grimm brothers, on the assumption that their prisoners had created the melee with the figurehead in order to escape. Failing that, Torsten would search for the altar. It was a hunch, but Torsten was certain Jacob would never had risked the _Adalia_ if he wasn't within reach of the altar's hiding place. Contrary to what Torsten had heard from villagers in Germany, he knew Jacob Grimm was no fool…not in matters mystical.

Torsten had picked up Jacob's trail first thing that morning when he'd stumbled across the boy's campsite in time to find the boy piling stones around what looked like a grave. Jacob had fled a heartbeat before Torsten's men stormed into his camp. In their haste to capture the boy, Torsten had paid only half a mind to what he assumed was Will's grave. No matter. If Will was dead,as Torsten suspected (for the boy had been chained below deck on a sinking ship) it saved Gerit the trouble of personally killing him, as his duty would have demanded.

He'd pursued Jacob up into the mountain that towered over the island where Grimm had marooned them all, guided by the footprints on the dirt path and the intuition that told him his quarry was close, _very_ close. Finding him had been the easy part---_catching_ Jacob a second time was still the hiccup in Torsten's task. The boy ran like a rabbit and, thanks to the map he must have torn from the book and kept with him or simply memorized, Jacob was familiar with this island and its hiding places. Torsten regretted not having found Jacob's campsite sooner. He could have crept up on the boy while he slept and tied a rope around him instead of having to chase him across this God-forsaken island.

The pursuit of Jacob Grimm had an innocuous start---it began with a mere note delivered to Gerit Torsten like any other letter from friends. It had been sent by Karl at the library in Heidelberg. That was peculiar in and of itself and gave Gerit his first inkling that this note was more than friendly correspondence.

The contents were beyond anything Torsten could have anticipated. Discoveries of Desdemondian relics were rare. Gerit regarded the chances of find the Altar des Feuer or its Messer as probable as stumbling across the Holy Grail at a wayside peddlers' market. It was good that Torsten had been sitting when he'd read the message or he'd have likely fallen from shock.

The Altar and the Messer found by a whelp at the school in Heidelberg? After the Society had searched for centuries in vain? Desdemond's hiding place revealed by a boy? Apparently, the lad---one 'Jacob Grimm'---had shown up at the library needing a man proficient in Gaelic to translate markings on a scroll he'd found. The words 'Messer des Feuer' were among the indecipherable, non-Gaelic markings on the scroll. Luckily, Karl had been the linguist Grimm had turned to for assistance. The whole situation---outsmarted by a lad---would have been humiliating if Gerit Torsten had been the sort of man who indulged in humiliation. He regretted the need for Karl to dispatch a lad with such a keen mind for the pursuit of antiquities, but the secrets about Desdemond had to be kept for the safety of all mankind and so Gerit had given the order to steal the scroll and do away with the Grimm boy.

Within an hour of receiving the note and sending a reply, Torsten had packed what he would need onto his horse and set out for Heidelberg…only to be thwarted in his quest for the Altar yet again. Karl had planned a swift and merciful death for that Grimm lad only to discover that the boy had fled the school mere hours after going to Karl for the translation. Grimm had left most of his belongings behind in the small room he rented, so his departure may have been as impromptu as Torsten's own journey. _Had Jacob Grimm that much zeal for the altar or had he somehow known he was in danger of his life?_ Torsten wondered.

The trail of Jacob Grimm went cold in Heidelberg. The boy had been wise not leaving any word of his destination even with his most trusted instructors. Then, by luck, Karl remembered two words from the translation of the scroll: _Flumen_ and _tria_.

Torsten recalled a city established around the time of Desdemond's shameful cult---Hollenstadt. It was folly to assume the scroll must refer to Germany, a place where the blasphemous sect had spent only a short time. It could have been any 'three rivers' in any part of the world, Torsten knew.

First, Gerit had buried himself in the task of finding any locations with three rivers anywhere in the world where Desdemond had ventured and sending word of Grimm and the scroll to colleagues in those areas. Then, to err on the side of caution, Torsten had sent word to friends in Hollenstadt, who in turn placed themselves in positions where they'd easily know if Grimm showed his face in the village. He trusted his associates to be able to apprehend Jacob. Gerit had no hopes of arriving in Hollenstadt in time to intercept Jacob and therefore did not try. Instead, after introducing himself as one of Grimm's uncles to a rather gullible teacher at the school, Torsten had learned of Jacob's family and---on a hunch---set out for Catriona.

By this time, his associates had found Grimm in Hollenstadt all right---_Wilhelm_ Grimm.

They, at least, had confirmed Jacob's destination (courtesy of Wilhelm) as being Catriona, as Torsten had guessed. Torsten was almost to Jacob's home village by that time…and arrive again too late! Jacob had booked passage on the _Adalia_, which set sail hours before Torsten rode into the seaside village.

Boarding and seizing the ship like common pirates was distasteful to Torsten in every way. He was a man practiced at killing, but killing in an honorable fashion and for honorable causes. If the crew had simple let him remove Jacob Grimm from the ship without protest, the entire episode wouldn't have been necessary. The captain's intuition and obligation to protect his passengers was commendable, but suicidal. He'd been on of the few Torsten and his men could not subdue and put off the ship, therefore he had died on his ship.

All the time, the effort at the chase, the bloodshed, to apprehend young Grimm and here Torsten was---Jacob had slipped through his fingers again! Torsten had underestimated that Jacob Grimm boy…but how could _anyone_ have anticipated trickery like Jacob had pulled on the _Adalia_?

Jacob's professors, in retrospect, had warned him. '_Fascinated with the unnatural, magic, witchcraft, and hokum_' they'd said of the lad. '_Brilliant mind for it'_, '_Creative'_, '_A bit odd_', '_Unpredictable'_, they'd added. Gerit hadn't given those admonishments any thought. '_Brilliant'_ had been a given—Torsten didn't need to be told that much. Grimm had unearthed the Messer and the Altar's hiding places, after all. That was no feat of the simple-minded. '_A bit odd'_? How often was brilliance tagged with that insult? Torsten wondered.

'_Unpredictable'_. That was the phrase Torsten should have kept in mind.

Torsten paused on the trail and surveyed the mountainside in frustration, searching for a sign of Jacob Grimm. _Where had that maddening boy vanished to?_ Jacob had been only a few hundred feet away and now he was gone without a trace.

Gerit cursed at Jorn, the one responsible for spoiling what should have been a clean shot, a clean kill: "Next time, don't shout a warning at the boy."

Torsten didn't believe in magic. He believed in God and angels and, to a degree, in the existence of the evil things spoken of in the Bible, but not in magic. Mastery of things unnatural was the domain of God, not within reach of mortals. 'Magic' was explainable sleight of hand and trickery. There was nothing mystical about it at all.

And yet he could not explain what had happened on the _Adalia_ the previous day. It was no trick or sleight of hand that had scuttled the ship and drowned or strangled half his men. It was an evil thing Jacob Grimm had conjured and Torsten had no defense against it. What else did Grimm have in his bag of tricks?

The terrain around Torsten was an eyesore---desolate, miserable, and stinking of sulfur, the devil's own smell. The stench came from the steam emanating from cracks in the rock. He was in a pass along the side of the mountain, somewhere near the summit. Cliffs towered over one side of the trail on which his group walked. The other side of the trail was a steep drop off to the ocean far below. The cliff above them was not one solid wall, but rather was formed of basalt that had cracked into what resembled columns. It gave the cliff the appearance of being made of tall logs of rock shoved together. Boulders of basalt and other rock had fallen long ago from the cliff and formed high piles. It was those piles of stones, which stretched halfway up the face of the columnar cliff, into which Jacob had fled to hide from his pursuers.

_Where was he? _Torsten wondered again. "Jacob!" Torsten shouted, not expecting a reply. His cry echoed along the cliff.

"He's gone this way." Impatient, embarrassed at his mistake, and mad with the need to avenge what Grimm had done on the _Adalia_, Jorn gestured to the pile of boulders and tried to push past his leader. Torsten put an arm across Jorn's chest to block his path.

"Something's not right," Gerit admonished. The chase was bothering Torsten the more he thought about it. Jacob was fast and familiar with this land. He should have eluded them several times over by now, yet he kept re-appearing just within sight but out of reach of Torsten's small crew. _Why? Did he want them to follow him? Was he leading them somewhere? Into another trap?_

_Or was he leading them _away_ from something?_

Torsten's mind suddenly brought back the image of that 'grave' in Jacob's camp. Jacob had taken care to make sure they'd seen it, had shouted curses at them for 'killing' his brother as he fled the camp….

"Jorn, go back to that campsite we found this morning. Have a thorough look at that grave this time," Torsten ordered.

The hulking man frowned. "And look for what?" he asked doubtfully.

"Wilhelm Grimm. What do you think? See if he's as dead as we thought he was." At Jorn's incredulous look, Torsten added: "Just a hunch."

Reluctant, Jorn grudgingly did as he was told. He wouldn't mind repaying Wilhelm Grimm for the burns from that cursed talisman anyway…

Torsten continued to survey the cliff, wary about pursuing Grimm. "What are you up to this time, Jacob?"

Jacob Grimm was exhausted, freezing, and out of breath. His hands and legs were scraped from his hasty climb up the pile of rocks, and while he hid among the boulders, he fought the need for sleep. He hadn't rested in two days, staying up one night to devise the escape plan and again the previous night to watch over his unconscious, half-frozen brother.

Surviving the wreck had been a close thing. Jacob had pinched Will's nose shut and held his mouth closed in case his brother revived at the shock of being plunged into cold water. Will, however, had remained unconscious even as they were pulled underwater. They were saved only by the fact that the ship---weakened by the charm when the boards had pried themselves free of their nails---had all but disintegrated around them upon impact with the rocks near the shore. Massive cracks and gaps had appeared in the hull, large enough for Jacob to swim through. In the chaos, Torsten and his men hadn't been in any position to notice as Jacob and Will surfaced or spot Jacob as he towed his brother to shore. Jacob had been careful to avoid the beaches and plateaus in favor of the shelter of the sloping hillside and the scant trees that offered cover.

Once on shore, Jacob checked again to be sure his brother was still alive, and then set about keeping them both that way. Dripping wet and shivering, Jacob had built a fire as high as he could without it being seen by whoever washed up on the beach not far away. He'd put Will as close to the fire as he could, stripped off soaking wet clothes that were no better than ice, and made a cover out of leafs, dirt, and branches that Jacob hoped would add to the fire's warmth for his brother was far too cold and the bruises from the rope were harsh against his too pale skin. Jacob blamed himself for those bruises and cursed under his breath again at Will's intrusion into his plans.

Next, Jacob had struggled---his frozen arms feeling like lead instead of flesh---out of his own coat and sodden clothing. He draped the wet garments on sticks over the fire to dry. It was an eternity, during which he was huddled by the small fire while the night air bit into his skin, before the clothes were finally dry enough to be tolerable. Then, Jacob piled his coat and Will's over his brother like blankets and replaced the shelter of the branches and leafs and dirt.

All the while, for the second, sleepless night in a row, Jacob fretted. With his whole heart, he wished to be on his way to the altar. He knew the rock formation he'd seen from the _Adalia_ that day. The map called it 'Desdemond's Pyre'. It looked like an old man sleeping on his back to Jacob. It marked the hiding place of the Altar des Feuer. Yet, as much as his spirit yearned to trek the hill now, climb the mountain, find the altar, and bring some sort of closure to a lifetime's quest, Jacob could not go…not while his brother was here and in need of his help.

The worry was how to keep Will alive (and better still, out of Jacob's way when he did finally awaken). Jacob could not be there when Will awoke or the altar might as well be on the other side of the world. Will would never let Jacob pursue it, he'd made that much painfully clear. Yet, Jacob could not set off on his own until he had no doubts about Will's health and safety. Unconscious and half-frozen, Will couldn't very well protect himself from the human predators on this island. The shock of Jacob's trick, the cold, and the darkness would only keep Torsten at bay until sunrise, Jacob guessed, and then he'd be searching for them.

Jacob had guessed right.

Jacob's anxiety had intensified as the dawn had approached. Will was better. His skin had some warmth to it and color had returned to his pale flesh. Will's improvement was a weight off Jacob's soul and mind, but only a small one. Torsten would be looking for them soon. Jacob had nothing but rocks and sticks and guile with which to defend himself and Will. Even if his journal weren't at the bottom of the ocean, lost forever, there were not more ideas to glean from it.

No way around it---Jacob could not stay and wait with Will any longer. Torsten would guess that Jacob had survived…he'd last been on the main deck with Torsten abandoned ship. He might not know that Will had escaped, for Will had been chained below. In addition, Jacob had the Messer, which had somehow stayed in his coat pocket during the frantic swim from the _Adalia_. Jacob was Torsten's prey, not Will. If Jacob played fox to the hound, Will had a chance of surviving unnoticed.

Still, Jacob felt he should do something more than bait their pursuers to save his brother. He was at a loss as to what to do, however, until the first rays of sunlight struck the summit, 'Desdemond's Pyre'.

_A pyre…_

Jacob had done his best to make Will's covering resemble a grave by piling grass atop it and circling it with rocks and making sure that nothing heavier than grass or leafs covered Will's mouth and nose so he could breathe. He had taken care not to bury Will so deeply that he couldn't free himself when he woke, but only enough that the ruse would fool Torsten's men.

He hoped the trickery had worked, that they'd passed by Will in their haste to stop Jacob.

Torsten had doggedly pursued Jacob into the mountain, with Jacob being very careful that his former captors never lost track of him while still staying out of their reach. He had to lead them away from Will. When they were finally in the mountain pass, Jacob turned his thoughts to eluding them completely. He was very close to the altar now, Jacob knew. He needed to begin to put distance between himself and Torsten.

"Grimm!" Torsten shouted from below. "The altar's of no use, lad! You're risking your life for myth and fairy tales!" The man's voice echoed off the cliff, trying to lure Jacob into revealing his hiding place. Jacob would not be baited this time. He stayed hidden among the basalt boulders.

"You're the one in danger, Torsten," Jacob warned. "Beyond this pass is Desdemond's territory. The map spoke of traps from here to the altar for anyone who doesn't wield the Messer."

It was the truth. When he'd come to the cliff, Jacob had seen the subtle markings carved into the basalt columns, so faint that they could have been overlooked as natural flaws in the stone. He knew the symbols, for they were identical to the ones on the scroll he'd discovered, the scroll that set him off on this insane journey. Jacob had no particular wish to lead Torsten's group to further violence or to their deaths--if they'd only give up their intentions of killing him and Will. He would regret the deaths on the _Adalia_ if he and Will hadn't been in mortal danger from their captors at the time, hadn't come within a heartbeat of death trying to escape. Jacob had lead Torsten's men this far only because the summit lay in the opposite direction from where Will was hidden. The farther Torsten and his remaining men could be lured, the better Will's odds of living out the day.

He dared not peek out to see if Torsten heeded his warning. He didn't need to—Torsten was every bit as obsessed as Jacob was. He wouldn't give up as long as he drew breath...which would come soon if he followed Jacob any farther. The fact that Torsten had come this far told Jacob that the man hadn't noticed or recognized the carvings in the cliffs and rocks. Hadn't noticed or didn't care.

_Well, I tried to warn him._ Jacob had no more time to waste watching to see what would happen to his foolish pursuers. The altar was so close now that Jacob felt its call in his blood and in his soul. He was so close to finally accomplishing what he'd set out to do, he couldn't risk failure now.

Grimm was right about the danger, and Torsten knew it. He'd seen the inscriptions in the rocks and the columnar basalt. They were, indeed, in Desdemond's domain. "You're in danger as well, lad! I told you before--this quest is only going to earn you the grave. I know what it's like to wish for the impossible, Jacob, to want someone back from the dead. But the altar can't give you that, lad. The altar's powers are a fable. Are you willing to die for a fairy tale?" Torsten kept a watchful eye on the boulders for the slightest motion that might reveal Jacob's hiding place. "I have an obligation, Jacob. I have to be here. You, however, don't need to die today. Give me the Messer and let me do what I have to do and I'll spare your life."

No answer.

_Who was it_? Torsten wondered again. _Who had such hold on the Grimm boy's heart to make such extraordinary, ridiculous measures worth the while?_ The great motivators of life were love, fear, and guilt. Which was driving the lad towards his own grave? For there was no chance the altar could perform the miracle that was the basis of its legend. If it could, for the sake of argument, how was Jacob planning to make the damn thing work? It's 'miracles' were purchased in blood. Whose blood was Jacob prepared to offer? Certainly not his brother's---for, if Will had indeed survived, Jacob had already demonstrated beyond question that he was unwilling to let his sibling perish without a fight.

Torsten's blood perhaps? Was Jacob leading him to the altar on purpose---lamb to the slaughter? He'd underestimated Jacob before, but somehow the notion that Jacob would sacrifice Torsten in cold-blooded murder didn't seem right. Souls with the capacity for that sort of evil were revealed by the eyes. Jacob might kill to protect his family, like on the _Adalia_, but he didn't have the eyes of a murderer.

Who then? There was no one else on the island. Surely Jacob wasn't planning on sacrificing himself?

"Jacob! Do you hear me? Turn back now. Whoever it was, it's not worth your life," Torsten tried again.

A pebbled tumbled from the rocks above, bounced off the cliff walls, and hit the dirt not far from Torsten. Instinctively, Torsten swung the pistol in the direction from which the stone had fallen. He saw a blur of white shirt and fired a shot at it, but Grimm was too fast. He was higher up in that rock pile than Torsten had thought and the shot missed completely.

"Damn!" Torsten prepared to follow.

As he began climbing the steep pile of rocks in pursuit, more pebbles began to tumble down the slope. Though some glanced off his arms and legs, Torsten paid them no mind…

…until he felt the ground beneath his feet begin to tremble.

It was subtle; in fact he scarcely noticed it for a few seconds of his ascent, intent as he was on capturing Jacob. Only when the quake grew in intensity so that Torsten nearly slipped and fell did it dawn on the man that the ground was moving. The glow, in the color of fire, that emanated from the symbols long ago scratched into the basalt walls of the cliff escaped his notice altogether. Still, he would not be deterred from his duty by a mere earthquake.

It took the screams from his men, farther down the hill of stone, to make him finally stop and look back at them. They shrieked in terror as, for the second time in less than one day, they were attacked in a most impossible, supernatural manner. This time, it was not wood or rope that had come to life, but the land all around them that lashed out with deadly consequences.

Amidst the shaking of the earth, the inscriptions in the rocks glowed with such fire that they finally gained the attention of the party, a warning observed too late. The sight sent fear down even Torsten's spine. With the memory of the _Adalia_ fresh in their minds, another otherworldly assault was too much for even the stoutest heart among them to bear. Some prayed, some cursed, and some abandoned all hope of survival, but---riveted to the spot where they stood---it never occurred to any of them to flee.

A short distance ahead of them, Torsten saw the danger at the same instant. He dove from the precarious, unstable hill of rock on which his men stood to the safety of a small ledge in the cliff wall. He tried to spur his associates to action: "Get back! Get out of there!"

The roar of the quake and the noise of falling rock overpowered his cry. In their panic, they wouldn't have had the presence of mind to obey even if they had heard. From his perch, Torsten saw clearly what happened next. Just for the space of two heartbeats, the ground became as quicksand and Torsten's men sank into it, ankle-deep. This predicament barely gained their attention before quicksand hardened like iron and held them fast. No struggling loosened the earth's grip on their legs. They might have escaped had they a sword or axe and the fortitude to cut off their own feet…and had they done so quickly, for the earth was not finished with them yet.

The ground bubbled up around each man who had crossed into Desdemond's territory and cocooned them in dirt starting at their feet and working upwards until their cries were muffled as their faces were covered. Only Torsten, sheltered on the basalt ledge well above the ground, escaped as his men were shrouded in these vertical graves right before his eyes. Torsten uttered not a sound, not even a whimper of horror, during this for fear the evil at work would take notice of him next. He looked on, powerless to intervene, as the earthen lumps that had once been a small army began to melt back into the ground, like snowmen melting in the first warmth of spring, until nothing remained of them---not even their footprints.

The land fell still and quiet again. There wasn't so much as the twitter of a bird to break the stillness, there was only the ragged, shocked breathing of the sole survivor. After a great while, Torsten collected his wits. Grief or regrets would have to wait for another day. He had a task to complete---had to find young Grimm before Jacob or Desdemond's curses unleashed something worse.

The footprints he'd been following had quite suddenly vanished. Will stopped to catch his breath. The trail had grown steeper as it wound its way from the grassy hillside up into the mountain's lifeless, rocky terrain…terrain that grew more and more desolate as the trail ascended towards the 'sleeping man' summit. The path began to wind around the side of the mountain, with cliffs jutting upwards in peculiar columns of stone on one side of the trail and a drop-off to the ocean on the other. Cracks in the ground emitted steam that stank of sulfur, so powerful he almost gagged on the stench. For a few seconds, on his way up the mountain, Will even thought that the wind had sounded distinctly like screams, but dismissed that as (he hoped) his imagination playing tricks on him.

There was only one sign of life in the wretched landscape, and it was as out-of-place on this island as he felt: Jutting from the side of the side of the cliff, growing seemingly out of the rocks themselves in defiance of the fact that it should not survive there and knew it might fall into the sea at any moment, was a lush willow tree. Its branches were vibrant green against the stark, black basalt cliff and they floated in the breeze in a manner that reminded Will of….

…hair. As he stared, the vision of the longhaired woman atop the cliff from Sister's vision superimposed itself over the out-of-place willow, and the branches fluttering in the wind appeared as long strands of her hair. He could nearly discern the woman's features in the bark of the tree.

It did not belong; it should not be. Yet, there it was. Will's life had become such an endless parade of oddities and impossibilities that the presence of the willow tree didn't cause so much as a quirk of his eyebrow.

If that altar truly lay along this path, then its resting place had been selected to very pointedly warn trespassers: _Stay away_! Under any other circumstances, Will would have happily obliged. Between the odor and the ominous rock formations and the uneasiness that was growing stronger in his heart, Will was loathe to go one step farther. But, turning back would mean death for his brother one way or the other, and therefore he was prepared to press onward.

If he only knew which way Jacob and his pursuers had gone! With the sudden disappearance of the tracks, there was no way to be certain. Jacob might have continued into the mountain pass or he might have veered from this trail entirely and climbed the pile of broken basalt columns and boulders and shimmied right up the cliff. The walls of the cliff seemed a difficult climb and there was no sound reason to think that his brother had scurried up the cliff or that the altar lay in that direction.

No sound reason at all.

Which meant it would be a perfectly rational course of action in Jake's mind. Besides, if Jacob hadn't climbed up the cliff, then why did his trail end on this exact spot? "That's definitely the right way," Will mumbled to himself.

"How helpful that is to hear, Mr. Grimm."

The voice had come from the trail behind Will. He didn't need to glance over his shoulder to know who had crept up behind him. He only wondered if Mr. Jorn was alone.

Turning---ever so slowly---to face the larger man, Will hid a smile of satisfaction when Torsten's lackey recoiled at the sight of the talisman that still hung around Grimm's neck. _Wondering how we retrieved it, no doubt._ Jorn had no weapons, which meant if he wanted to make a prisoner of Will again, he'd have to risk touching the smaller man. Those angry welts on Jorn's hands from the last time he'd come in contact with Will's pendant would undoubtedly make Jorn reluctant to do so. The big man also looked suitably spooked by their surroundings. Perhaps he was more open to reason than he had been on the ship.

"I've only come to retrieve my brother, Mr. Jorn. I'm sorry about the whole 'ship coming to life and attacking everyone' incident. Sometimes Jake's plans even surprise me," Will gestured to his own bruised neck to underscore that point.

Jorn's face was a stone mask. "Are you now? Maybe we won't string you up by the neck and dunk you into the drink then…maybe we'll just kill you quick." He took a few steps closer and Will tensed for an impossible fight.

Jorn had taken only two steps when brilliant light, like fire, suddenly poured from the sides of the columnar cliff and the ground beneath their feet began to shake.


	11. Chapter 11

AUTHOR'S NOTE: _I don't own the characters (Miramax does) or the fairy tales referenced in this story. I'm not making one single penny off this story. (pauses) I wouldn't mind borrowing the boys for awhile though…_

_1) This is rated TEEN for a reason. There are some very adult themes and situations and angst in here and some violence. It deals with rather dark issues relating to familial rifts and deaths of family members (if you saw the movie, you know to what I'm referring). Can't handle, please don't read. 2) Although there are religious references in the story, nothing is based on any real people or cults. They were completely fabricated for plot purposes and if you see similarities to any real people or cults, you are squinting way too hard, if you know what I mean. Do _not _try anything you see in this story, boys and girls, because it's all made up stuff. So, if anyone flames for reasons of dark themes or religious references, I'm going to ignore it because I've given fair warning. 3) The opinions expressed by characters do not reflect the opinion of this writer._ _See Chapter One for the rest of the notes._

**11**

By the time the shock of the first jolts passed, Jorn had forgotten Will entirely. Torsten had sent him to find the older Grimm brother less than an hour before, but Jorn had abandoned his search and come running back when the sounds of his own brethren screaming echoed along the mountain. He'd returned to the place where he'd parted ways with his group to find no trace of them, not even footprints, and Will Grimm there instead. Jorn's conclusion was that Grimm had pulled some trickery like his brother had on the _Adalia_ and that Will was to blame for the screams and the disappearance of the rest of the group. He no longer cared about finding the altar or duty to the Society nor did he fear that talisman around Grimm's neck…Jorn wanted to kill both of the Grimm brothers for the headaches they'd caused, put all the horrors of the past weeks behind him, and be done with it.

When the mountain came to life and the earth began to tremble, a noise like a whimper escaped Jorn. A roar like thunder filled the air…a roar like the one that had preceded the havoc aboard the _Adalia_, and Jorn knew in an instant that whatever bad fortune had claimed his friends was about to befall him as well. He tried to flee, to escape this evil place, but the tremors intensified and finding his footing became impossible. He waited there with Grimm, in mortal dread, struggling just to stand, for whatever was coming.

In the same plight, Will stared at the basalt columns around them, expecting the rocks to fall like trees or the rocks pile to collapse like an avalanche and crush them both at any moment. Only now—when they became brilliant like fire---did Will notice the strange symbols carved into the stone cliffs. He'd seen those symbols in Jake's journal. They were the symbols that were supposed to be on the Altar des Feuer…

And then, staring at the columns and their markings, Will knew why Jacob's tracks ended on this spot. _The altar's not hidden on the top of this cliff…this cliff _is _the altar._ Jacob had probably climbed to the top. Of course, as it appeared he was about to die, Will's insight seemed to have come just a little too late.

As they watched, unable to keep their footing on the shaking ground in order to flee, new columns of stone erupted from the earth and stretched skyward until they towered over Will and Jorn. The columns encircled them both like a fence of stone, each stone pressed together so that not so much as a sliver of light could pass between the columns. The basalt was smooth to the touch, impossible to climb. It took only five seconds for the two of them to become trapped within the impenetrable, inescapable circle. Will gaped; his former captor screamed.

"Mother of God." Wide-eyed, Jorn crossed himself and said prayers in preparation for the death he knew was coming.

"God would have no part of this place," Will disagreed, as he searched for a way, _any_ way out of the trap.

He saw the danger before his fellow prisoner did: The columns had formed walls, with the only opening at the top of these walls…so high up that only the sky and the top of the Willow tree were visible through the circular opening. Inscriptions, backlit by fire, glowed on the rock columns. When the columns had stopped sprouting upwards, the earth gave another violent tremble and the walls began to close in on Will and Jorn. They'd be crushed between the rocks within minutes if they didn't find a way out.

Above the column, the wind kicked up again, but the noise of the quaking earth drowned out the whistle of the gale. The wind whipped furiously at the branches of the Willow and the tree bent beneath its force…to Will's eye, it almost looked as if the tree were as distressed about his predicament as he was.

Will and Jorn backpedaled, putting as much distance between themselves and the walls as they could in an attempt to preserve their lives for a few more minutes, until finally they stood at the very center of the circle. They stood back-to-back, not quite touching for Jorn still shied away from the talisman around Will's neck. Will wracked his brain for a plan, a solution, a way out of this mess, but the only thought prevalent in his mind was that he was going to die on that spot and, somewhere on the plateau above, Jacob would soon follow.

Then there was no more time to think; the columns were almost upon them. Jorn yelped at the first contact of the stone against his body. Will closed his eyes and, in a useless gesture, held out his hands and laid them against the basalt as if he could physically hold back the advancing stone.

The wall of rock shuddered…and halted.

_What the--_? Will fearfully pried open one eye, and was almost blinded by brilliant light that suddenly shined within the circle of stone…light that shone not from Desdemond's inscriptions, but from the talisman Will wore. Energy rippled from the talisman, trailing down his arms without burning him, and spread across the columns like a shield between the men and the stone. It held the walls back, but only by the length of Will's outstretched arms.

Poor Jorn had to all but shrink into a ball to avoid contact with Grimm or the pendant's energy in the confined space. He peeked over Will's shoulder and gasped when he saw the boy holding the walls at bay with the talisman. Jorn gazed apprehensively at the walls, expecting them to continue their advance at any moment. Will felt the man twisting this way and that trying to see what was going on. "Is it---? Are we--?"

"Yes, yes, we're still alive. Will you stop squirming?" Will complained, as Jorn's movements were about to jostle him into losing contact with the rocks. "We have to find a way out of here. I'm perfectly willing to try, but I doubt I can stand like this forever."

Jorn had no suggestions. "We can't climb. Can you boost me up?"

Will rolled his eyes. "I'm a bit busy keeping these walls from killing us, or hadn't you noticed? And I can give you two other reasons why climbing on me won't help: First, the columns are too tall. You'll never reach that opening. Second, I'd as soon not have my back broken by you standing on my shoulders, if it's all the same to you."

"Well, you're so brilliant, what do you suggest?" Jorn snapped at him.

"Stop panicking and let me think!" Will barked right back. Bad enough to be in this situation, crushed into a space so small that he could smell the stink of the other man's breath, but the company left much to be desired. _If he must be in such close quarters, he would have preferred Maybe-Gretchen for company._

Gradually, Will's attention was drawn back to the out-of-place Willow tree on the cliff. The tree still swayed in the intensifying wind. A strong gust bent the tree so that its branches brushed across the tops of the posts that imprisoned the duo and rested there for a minute.

It had to be his eyes playing tricks, but Will would swear the tree branches draped over the tops of the columns were growing longer. They must have just been swaying as the wind buffeted the tree's trunk, for it was not possible that the delicate limbs, like long locks of hair, were slowly snaking down the length of the basalt and drawing closer and closer to the trapped Will and Jorn. _An illusion, yes, a delightful illusion no doubt born of desperation._

Yet, it certainly seemed like the branches were growing longer with each blink of Will's eyes. In fact, they looked to be so close to him now that he might grasp them if he dared relinquish his hold on the walls to extend his hand towards the limbs.

As he watched in amazement, the Willow branches finished their descent into the circular prison and began coiling themselves around Will's outstretched left arm. Above the columns, the wind finally abated as if it were satisfied…or waiting for something to happen.

"Mr. Jorn?" Will called over his shoulder, eyes riveted to the branches around his own arm.

"What?" Focused on trying to think his way out of the trap, Jorn wasn't in the mood to be interrupted.

"You might want to grab onto my arm," Will advised him.

"No thank you, I'd like to keep the skin on my hands…what's left of it." He frowned at the scalds on his palms from the last time he'd tried to lay hands on Grimm. Will felt the larger man trying to turn in the cramped space to face him. "Why would I do a fool thing like---" Jorn must have spied the branches that had dropped into the pit and ensnared Will now, for he didn't finish voicing his question.

The wisps of branches suddenly went taut. Reflexively, Jorn grabbed Will's unencumbered arm, biting his lip against the pain as the talisman reacted in defense of its owner and lashed with small stings of electricity at the man. Whatever was about to befall Grimm, good or bad, Jorn would go along for the ride. He lacked the courage to face the spirits---the demons---of this island on his own.

With Will's arm tightly in its grip, the Willow branches gave a mighty heave upwards and Will---with Jorn hanging on to his arm for dear life and yelling both in fear and in pain as the talisman burned him still for touching Grimm---was lifted off his feet. The movement made him lose contact with the stone columns of their prison and the protective glow of the talisman faded out. The walls once more began closing in while at the same time the two men were lifted towards the opening at the top of the columns. Will and Jorn were pulled over the top of the wall only seconds before the remaining gap narrowed to the point where they would have been crushed.

The branches whipped them upwards, and they sailed higher, past the Willow perched on the side of the mountain. The limbs swung them to the safety of the top of the cliff, and gently released them both on a grassy plateau there. As soon as the branches had disentangled themselves from Will's arm, the limbs began to shrink and retreated from the men. Will ran to the side of the cliff and gazed down to find the Willow back to its original shape, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all.

"_That's_ why," Will belatedly answered Jorn's question.

Jorn had seen a shade more than enough. The color had drained from his face and his knees would not quite support his weight. A whimper bubbled from him and he turned and fled, leaving Will alone on the plateau. Will wasn't unhappy to see him go. _Let's hope Torsten's that accommodating…_

The scholar in Jacob Grimm appreciated---even marveled---at the significance of this moment. He had found something lost for over a thousand years, found what no other man had even prove existed. The discovery would have earned him notoriety in historical circles around the world…if he dared ever speak of this place. More than that, standing at the Altar des Feuer was, at last, the culmination of work he'd began sitting on Father's knee with his journal so very many years ago. It was the proof, finally, of the existence of one of Jacob's 'fables and nonsense' and validation of his devotion to 'hokum and rot'.

Too bad he'd never be able to speak of this to anyone.

Much like any grand pursuit, flight of fancy, or dream, the real thing was nothing like Jacob had envisioned. He stood atop the cliffs formed of the columnar jointed basalt. Behind him was a grassy plateau that sloped downward, no doubt back to the trail that Jacob had abandoned to scale the side of the cliff. Where the grass ended, the tops of the basalt jutted, side-by-side, about a foot above the ground to form a stone dais, of sorts, so it was not unlike stepping off the grass, up one step, and onto a floor composed of a hundred or more stone tiles.

Somehow, in spite of the descriptions of this place that Jacob had read in the scrolls, he still had expected to find the area lined with statues of long-forgotten heathen gods, to find an altar like something from a church only stained in blood and carved with symbols that had meaning only to Desdemond's cult, to find candles, antiquated spears and weapons, human and animal bones, and even thunder and lightning in the sky to underscore the wickedness of the location. The altar had none of those things. A few large rocks dotted the grassy plateau, but that was all. The inscriptions were in perfectly legible Gaelic, but had been etched so subtly that they could have just as easily have been natural deformations in the basalt.

Still, this stone dais, Jacob knew, was the Altar Des Feuer. Small wonder that it had lain hidden in plain sight on this uncharted island for so long---stepping onto the altar was no more remarkable than walking onto a platform to give a lecture at the school in Heidelberg…if the stage lay at the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean, that is.

When he stepped onto the rocks, the Messer des Feuer clutched in Jacob's hand came to life. The inscriptions carved into its hilt began to radiate yellow light. When the light from the Messer touched the stones of the altar, the cracks between each column of basalt forming the altar began to emit heat, smoke, and the now-familiar pungent, sulfuric stench. The smoke slowly formed a cloud overhead and began to blot out the sun. The wind kicked up once more and Jacob heard what sounded like the distance rustle of tree branches in the breeze. He paid it no attention. The inscriptions, identical to the ones on the wand/blade and those Jacob had seen on the cliff below, on each of the stones upon which he walked began to glow the orange and yellow color of fire.

As he walked across the stones, the ground began to quake. A group of rock columns, a group which formed the shape of an octagon, began to rise from the center of the dais/altar. The grating of stone against stone boomed like thunder. Flame poured from the center of this octagon, giving it the appearance of a massive torch. _Altar des Feuer…Altar of Fire. _This fire was the heart of the Altar des Feuer, according to the scrolls, and the source of its power, a flame supposedly sent down to Desdemond by the heathen gods he worshipped so many centuries ago. Jacob noticed that a space for the Messer des Feuer had been carved into one of the columns that formed the octagon torch.

There, at least, was the sinister, ominous, unnatural visage Jacob had pictured when he imagined the altar. With it blazing fire, bathed in a red-orange glow, with smoke rising to darken the afternoon and turn it to night, standing on the altar was like standing at the gate of hell itself.

This place had known evil, and its presence lingered there. Jacob could sense it and it made the hair on his neck stand on end and gooseflesh rise on his arms. The altar had known death; Jacob sensed that as well. Not one feature of its dark basalt or fiery inscriptions bespoke the life-restoring powers which were the heart of its legend. Just being there felt sacrilegious in every way and gave him doubts---doubts that the altar could accomplish the vitally important task for which he'd sought it out and suspicions that he could as easily be taking up residence in hell before the sun set that day as staring upon Sister's living face again. Even the inscriptions on the stones promised as much: '_This is the place where life is purchased with death'_ was the warning on the scroll and it had been etched into the altar as well.

For the first time in his life, Jacob Grimm's faith in the power of magic and fable faltered and even he wondered if his lifelong ambitions might, indeed, have crossed the line into madness.

Father had taught Jacob to believe in the miraculous, that every fable had its origin in fact, that nothing was impossible to anyone armed with the power of faith. Jacob had chosen to believe what Father had taught him and had held on to that faith in magic. Will, on the other hand, never believed in anything that he could not see or touch and had spent his lifetime making that very clear to his brother. Jacob's obsession with mysticism and fable had earned nothing but scorn from Will until he could scarcely look upon his younger brother without that anger, scorn, disdain, humiliation, or accusation in his eyes. Will was ashamed of him, would never forgive Jacob for wagering Sister's life on the power of magic. Had that swayed Jacob away from his beliefs? No, for here he was, ready to wager his own life on magic…and to wager Sister's life a second time. _Yes, a wise and sound-minded man believes mystical wands and altars can bring people back from the dead,_ Will had mocked him.

Maybe his brother was right. Maybe Jacob had finally gone completely stark raving mad.

Jacob ran his hands over the symbols etched into the stones and the spot where the Messer was supposed to be inserted into the rocks. Then, he reached into his shirt pocket for the small, cloth bag securely fastened inside. The lock of soft blonde hair tucked into the bag had been safely kept in Mother's locket most of her life. Mother wore that locket every day and had wanted to be buried with the necklace and the precious stands of hair inside. Jacob had defied her wishes by retrieving the locks from the pendant before he'd left home for Heidelberg, wanting---needing to have the strands of hair with him, close to his heart. He hoped, if his Mother had noticed them missing before she died, that she'd understood.

The airless locket had preserved the blonde strands of hair almost perfectly. The lock rested in Jacob's hand light as a feather. At the sight of it, Jacob's vision blurred and tears fell. He saw the face of the child to whom this lock had belonged and he saw that child's face in the angelic vision that came to him every night in place of dreams. That raw, long-familiar ache clutched at his heart---and steeled his resolve. He missed Sister, just as he missed Father and Mother---even as he missed his brother, gone from Jacob's life so completely (until a few days ago) that Will might as well have also been dead. What did Jacob have to lose by faith in the altar's powers? Either he would succeed, and finally undo the one mistake that had become the crux of his existence…

…or he would be dead, joining his beloved family in the afterlife. If it meant an end to the scorn and the whispers and the ire, to the guilt, to being alone, it was a price Jacob would gladly pay. No, it was too late for second thoughts, hesitations, and doubts, for wavering of faith. Jacob had come so very far, he had to finish what he'd started. He had to know if his faith was justified or if he'd spent a lifetime believing in nothing.

Pushing past his doubts, Jacob raised the Messer des Feuer and set it in its place on the altar.

Gerit Torsten had to finish what he'd begun.

This island---Desdemond's damned curse---would kill him, of that he no longer had doubt. But, he would not draw his last breath until he did what he'd set out to do by destroying the Altar des Feuer. If he didn't, his colleagues had spilled blood and had their blood spilled in vain, and Torsten would have failed the task to which his entire life had been dedicated. When the flame of the altar had been doused and Desdemond's power snuffed along with that fire, Torsten would no longer care which of these heathen traps dealt his deathblow.

The knowledge that he'd likely breathe his last breath that day created no fear in him. He'd meet his Creator with a soul at peace and a conscience clear, for—despite the deaths caused at his orders or by his hands—he'd done it all for the welfare of every living soul on the earth. His only regret was that he'd had to elude Desdemond's traps to accomplish his goal. He'd expected when this day arrived to be walking safely onto the altar with the Messer in one hand to ward off Desdemond's curses and spells. Jacob Grimm had confounded that plan and made Torsten's task more difficult, but Torsten would prevail. If he regretted anything else he'd done in his duties, it was letting Jacob Grimm out of those shackles on the _Adalia._ Who would have guessed such a nebbish boy could wreck such havoc?

Torsten finally reached the top of the cliff, and at once beheld the bizarre spectacle of Jacob Grimm---standing only a few hundred feet away atop a plateau formed of the tops of the basalt columns…the Altar des Feuer? The earth shuddered in reaction to what Jacob was doing and Torsten, by now accustomed to the quakes, managed to keep his footing. He watched, jaw dropped open, as stones rose at the center of the altar to form a torch and smoke began to blot out the sky. He saw the gaps between each basalt column glowing as if lighted by fire or lava. In Jacob's hand, the inscriptions carved into the Messer flared to life in the presence of the altar, just as the altar came alive at the arrival of the wand/blade. It was as hellish a spectacle as Torsten had ever beheld.

He'd seen enough. This had gone too far, it was time to stop that Grimm boy before he unleashed any more of Desdemond's curses---or worse---upon the world. Maybe he couldn't set foot on the altar without the protection of the Messer, but he didn't need to stand on the altar in order to stop Jacob. Torsten pulled the pistol from his belt and aimed for Jacob's skull. He squeezed the trigger at the same instant that his prey sensed his presence and turned to face him.

The shot was perfect. Torsten's aim was true. The pistol ball arched smoothly, cutting through smoke and defying the wind, which gusted to new heights of fury almost simultaneously with the firing of the gun. From Torsten's perspective, time slowed almost to a stop as he watched the ball veer straight towards Jacob's forehead. Jacob, in turn, hadn't time to react at all.

The altar itself intervened on Jacob's behalf. Tendrils of fire spurted from the massive central flame and curled around the pistol shot like fingers catching it within a fiery hand. The ball did not stop mid-air, it simply melted until not even a trace of it remained by the time it reached Jacob. This pillar of flame, fanned hotter by the screaming wind, snaked towards Torsten and struck the man like a fist. Heat seared his eyes, blinding him, and burned at his unprotected hands. Falling to his knees, Torsten screamed at the pain in his eyes and hands while, in his palm, the pistol grew white hot until any notion of reloading for another shot was abandoned. He dropped the weapon and raised his scorched palms to clutch at his singed face. Drawn in with his breath, the heat and acidic smoke poured into his lungs as if trying to burn him from the inside out.

Miserably, Torsten knew he was going to die there, only a few feet and one pistol shot short of completing his mission. Death would be a welcome relief, for the humiliation of failure was worse than any pain Desdemond's wretched traps could inflict upon him. With his last, agonized reserve of strength, Torsten pried open one eye. He may not be able to stand, but he'd at least meet his death with open eyes.

The earth between Torsten and the altar had cracked and molten rock bubbled up from that gap. The liquid rock crept towards the spot where he kneeled. Through the smoke stinging his eyes, Torsten saw Jacob Grimm staring back at him. The boy's mouth was moving, as if shouting a warning, but Torsten only heard the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

The altar's power in stopping Torsten's shot was beyond anything Jacob had expected. He paused, torn between his task and the man's plight. Jacob glanced from his former captor to the small river of molten rock closing in on the injured man. He couldn't abandon Torsten to be burned alive. He didn't want any more blood spilled. Jacob took a step towards Torsten, preparing to jump while the flow of white hot rock was still narrow.

"_Jacob_!"

The shout had not come from Torsten. It was Will's.

Jacob turned in the direction of the cry---it had come from behind Torsten on the grassy downslope---and even Torsten weakly glanced back over his shoulder. Will emerged from the thickening fog of smoke at a dead run and almost tripped over the fallen Torsten…which turned out to be a stroke of good luck. Intent as Will had been on reaching the altar and his brother, he had failed to see the river of molten rock which lay in his path. Torsten groped blindly and snagged the tail of Will's shirt. He used it to catch the boy and tug the younger man away from the superheated stream.

In turn, sizing up the situation in an instant, Will reached down, caught the injured man beneath his arms, and pulled Torsten out of the path of the lava flow. With much exertion, for Torsten was all but deadweight and no help in any way, Will managed to haul both of them to safety atop one of the large boulders nearby. "You…and Jake…are both mad!" Will growled.

He let the injured man sprawl on the rock and Torsten curled in on himself, groaning at the pain of his burns. Considering the pain Torsten had inflicted upon Jacob and himself, Will had difficulty working up sympathy for him. He was more preoccupied with the figure that stood on the rocks…the altar?

"Jacob!" Will shouted again. "Stop!"

His brother met Will's glance and hesitation filled Jacob's eyes. Jacob stared from Will to something clasped in his own hands, and Will saw then the curl of blonde hair that Jacob was holding. Will didn't need to ask to know it was Sister's. Their Mother had cut those strands after Sister died of her fever and kept the hair in a locket from that day on. Galvanized to action by the sight of the strands of hair, the uncertainty left Jacob's eyes and his mouth set into a firm line. With a small shake of his head and a shrug in something like an apology, Jacob turned away from Will and resumed whatever rite he was performing on the altar.

"Jake, _no_!" Will yelled. He searched for a place where the rock flow was narrow enough that he could leap across. He had to stop Jacob before he killed himself…

Torsten weakly seized hold of Will's arm and held on with surprising strength. "Don't---altar will kill you…anyone who doesn't wield…Messer."

Will was fighting the urgent need to panic. "I can't stand here!"

"Altar's a sham…your brother will die. Nothing you…can do," Torsten gasped.

Perhaps not, but Will was sure as hell going to try. "Stop testifying to the converted and tell me something more useful---how did you intend to destroy the altar?"

Will's question stoked a small ember of hope within Torsten that he might still accomplish his mission. Perhaps Will was right, perhaps he and Torsten shared the same goal, even if their motives were quite different. Torsten reached beneath his jacket for a canteen, which hung from a strap slung over his shoulder. He passed it to Will Grimm. "Holy water…douse the flame."

Grimm stared in disbelief at the tiny canteen that Torsten had pressed into his hand. It was barely enough water to extinguish a campfire…did the man really think it would snuff a fire like the one that blazed from the altar? "There has to be more to it than that."

Torsten grinned at that. "No more…except…must believe it, Will Grimm."

_Great, there's that word again._ In his mind, Will heard Father and Jacob and their countless hours engrossed in books of fables and magic, heard Father promising Jacob that magic was real if he'd only believe it. _Look at the mess that's gotten Jake into…gotten us both into._ Will was supposed to believe that something so small and simple as a handful of water was going to save his brother? _Absurd_!

But, if Will didn't try something—anything—Jacob would die, and Will didn't have any better ideas. He took a tight grip on the canteen and nodded, even though Torsten could not see the gesture. He would try. For Jacob's sake, he would try.

Now that he had a plan for attacking the altar, all he had to do was figure out how to cross the stream of lava and how to douse the flame when the altar would purportedly kill anyone who set foot on its stones. There was a lot of molten rock and fire between Will and his brother. "Any suggestions for how to get to the flame?" he asked Torsten.

Torsten had lost consciousness from the pain of his wounds.

"That's helpful," Will sighed.

Jacob had turned back to the central column of fire. He gently, reverently, placed the precious blonde strands of hair onto one of the symbols and the darkened sky began to rumble with deafening peels of thunder in answer. Focused on his task, Jacob didn't so much as flinch at the boom. He was mumbling words that Will could not make out above the din of the wind and thunder. But, when Jacob reached for the Messer and removed it from its place in the stone altar, the image Sister had shown Will of his brother with the blade piercing his chest replayed in Will's memory.

It was useless to shout again---even if Jacob could hear him above the wind, he would not listen to Will any longer. Will had no choice. He glanced at the talisman around his neck. It had protected him thus far; he hoped it wouldn't fail him now. Taking a deep breath and saying a silent prayer, he ran for the spot where the flow of molten rock was narrow enough to leap across.

What happened on the altar next halted Will in his tracks.

The stands of golden hair were bathed in the same yellow glow emanating from the inscriptions. When Jacob took up the Messer and placed it so the bladeless hilt hovered only inches over his heart. The familiar white beam of light---the precursor to the blade that would deliver a killing strike---shot from the Messer and shined a round spot on his chest. As it did, the strands were caught up in the wind and floated into the air. As Jacob and Will both watched, dumbstruck, the glow---and the strands---transformed themselves into a vaporous, but distinctly human, figure. Arms and fingers, bare legs and bare feet became discernable from the mist. Large eyes and a rounded face formed next. Will's heart lodged in his throat and even Jacob paled in surprise. Ghost, angel, or hallucination, both brothers recognized the face of the form.

Their sister.


	12. Chapter 12

AUTHOR'S NOTE: _I don't own the characters (Miramax does) or the fairy tales referenced in this story. I'm not making one single penny off this story. (pauses) I wouldn't mind borrowing the boys for awhile though…_

_1) This is rated TEEN for a reason. There are some very adult themes and situations and angst in here and some violence. It deals with rather dark issues relating to familial rifts and deaths of family members (if you saw the movie, you know to what I'm referring). Can't handle, please don't read. 2) Although there are religious references in the story, nothing is based on any real people or cults. They were completely fabricated for plot purposes and if you see similarities to any real people or cults, you are squinting way too hard, if you know what I mean. Do _not _try anything you see in this story, boys and girls, because it's all made up stuff. So, if anyone flames for reasons of dark themes or religious references, I'm going to ignore it because I've given fair warning. 3) The opinions expressed by characters do not reflect the opinion of this writer._ _See Chapter One for the rest of the notes._

**12**

The raging wind swirled around---emanated from---the incorporeal figure, a contrast to the gentleness in her smile as she gazed down at both of them. She was exactly as both of them had seen her in visions and dreams. Her wide eyes fell on Jacob first and his trembling hand, which held the Messer to his chest, and her smile darkened into sadness. It telegraphed itself from her eyes right into Jacob's soul…and to Will's as she turned her head to gaze upon him. The lump in Will's throat had grown painful, and when she reached one gauzy hand to brush delicately along Jacob's chin and extended the other hand towards Will, the latter closed his eyes.

Still, he felt the warm touch caress his face and heard her voice carried on the wind: "_Look, Will_."

He didn't want to look. _This was impossible. This was not happening_. He was back in the vision, only this time it was no dream. Jake was about to die and Will couldn't rouse himself from his shock at what he was seeing, couldn't make his feet carry him to the altar. The sight of Sister was bringing it all back to him---the grief at her death, the endless years of anger and blame directed at his younger brother for not fetching the doctor as he'd been told to do, the horrid fear of watching someone else he loved perish that had spurred him to flee Catriona when the first, early symptoms of Mother's illness began to manifest themselves.

Sister's voice was strong and persistent in his mind, on the wind, "_Look, Will._"

Will obeyed. He opened his eyes and saw the altar and Jacob no longer. He was home again. He was back in their small, cold house, watching Mother clinging to their feverish, dying Sister…

_Mother was holding tight to Sister and rocking her gently, the only comfort she could give the girl. She'd tried every remedy she knew to try to break Sister's fever. A simple root tea had done the trick when Will had been struck with the illness only the week before. It wasn't helping Sister. The girl was pale and sweating and yet shivering with cold, and her breath was coming in ragged gasps. No tea abated the fever. Cold compresses did little to sooth the heat burning the girl's forehead. Mother was murmuring reassurances that the doctor would be there soon, that he would be able to help._

Will resisted the vision playing out in his mind. He'd lived through this once. He'd seen it a hundred times or more in his nightmares. He didn't want to live it again. But the images would not be chased away by his defiance.

_Mother was never scared. The fact that her fear was so evident now terrified young Wilhelm. She had been afraid the night when Father died, Will remembered. Did that mean Sister was going to die? The boy paced, unable to sit still as his anxiety grew. No, it was only a fever. Mother had sent Jake to fetch the doctor. The doctor would know what to do. He would help their Sister. Will clung to that belief with all his heart and soul. What was taking Jake so long? _

Jacob remembered the man.

Wisdom and hindsight in the adult Jacob was now clearly revealed the man with the moustache, the missing right eye, the threadbare coat, the gloves with the fingers tore out, and a sneer that yielded no inner goodness or kindness for the charlatan that he was. The boy Jacob had been at the time was full of childlike trust and Father's lessons in magic, and he had no innate suspicions towards anyone he met. He'd been gullible, naïve, and the mustached man had preyed on Jacob's trusting nature and youth.

Poverty had further blinded the child: His eyes beheld the gold coins the man had brandished and it was more money than Jacob believed was possible for one person to possess. It was enough gold to pay for ten doctors to care for his Sister, enough to buy a home that wasn't too cold in winter and too hot in summer, enough that Mother wouldn't work all day and into the night to earn money to buy them food. The charlatan's words were logical to the child: Selling the cow would fetch enough money for a doctor, yes, he had said, but the magic beans could yield gold like the coins that the man displayed for the boy. With that many gold coins, Jacob could care for his family for the rest of their lives.

Therefore, to the wide-eyed boy's way of thinking, trading the cow for the magic beans had been a sensible bargain.

Jacob the adult, however, cringed in remorse at the memory and the memory of every subsequent moment of pain caused by that fateful decision he had made so long ago. When he closed his eyes to shut out that memory, the apparition of Sister brushed her fingers along his cheek and the touch conveyed sympathy he didn't want. "_Jacob, look_," she whispered in his mind.

_Jacob felt cold envelope him and the smell of sulfur faded into the crisp scent of snow. He opened his eyes to find the familiar streets of his town of birth, and saw a vision of himself as a child bounding down the street. The child Jacob was guiding the family cow. The charlatan was there, too, and Jacob saw the glint of greed in the man's eyes as he spied the unsuspecting boy._

_With everything he was, Jacob willed his younger self to run from the evil about to destroy his fragile world. He heard his own adult voice shout to the boy: "Don't!" He even moved towards the child in the vision, as if it were possible to stop the boy._

_And then the vision diverged from the scene that had played out so long ago. As Jacob watched, his younger self veered away from the approaching con man before the vile creature could open his mouth the spew forth his lies. Jacob made his way down the street, tugging the cow behind him, and continued on his way to the marketplace as Mother had instructed._

The glow of the Messer became blinding, but, caught up in his visions, Jacob did not notice…nor did he see it when light poured from the hilt and formed a beam, which shone onto Jacob's chest, directly above his heart. With his eyes closed, he failed to see the drop of blood well up from the spot where the light burned through his shirt and touched his skin.

_For the thousandth time since his younger brother had left the house, Will wished desperately to have been able to go with him. Action was better than standing and waiting. Jake was far too young to be trusted with the responsibility of selling the family's only valuable possession—their cow---and negotiating the services of the doctor. Jake could barely pull his head out of his books long enough to attend to his own simple household chores. But Mother would not leave Sister in her condition and Will was barely over the fever himself and it was wretchedly cold outside. Mother had forbidden him to set foot outside the house. Still, Will felt fine. He could have bundled himself up in Father's large coat to ward off the cold…_

_The door banged open and a tiny figure bounded into the room. Jake had his scarf pulled up and his cheeks were rosy from the frosty air outside, but his eyes glinted with triumph. "I fetched the doctor!" He held out his tiny, gloved hand to display a palm full of silver coins. "Look at the money I got for the cow! We had some left after I paid the doctor!"_

Will's brow furrowed and his lips curled downward into a frown of confusion. Doctors? Money? That wasn't right…where were the 'magic beans'?

_The doctor tipped cap politely to Mother, but moved straightaway to the feverish girl in her arms. Will's relief was so great that his knees nearly buckled beneath him. He squeezed his younger brother's shoulder in approval, "Well done, Jake." Both boys swiftly crossed the room to stand behind their Mother while the doctor checked their Sister. "It's going to be all right now," Will told the girl, not sure if she could understand him in her feverish delirium. "The doctor's here now. You'll be well soon."_

That wasn't the way it had happened. Will wished it could be real. The scene playing out in his mind, before his eyes, unfolded as he'd spent years wishing it had. Was this another dream? Another hallucination?

_Will had long imagined the doctor leaning over his Sister---just as he did now in this vision. He had imagined the doctor opening his bag—as he was doing in the vision now---and mixing powders and teas for Sister. Will had seen, countless times, the doctor put his hand on Sister's overheated forehead and smile down at her and offer promises that soon she would be well. The vision doctor mimicked Will's imagination again---there was the comforting press of his hand to her head and there was the smile meant to soothe and comfort the delirious child._

_There were, however, no words of promise or reassurance. No, the vision doctor defied that task that Will had mapped out in his wishes and dreams. Instead, the doctor rose from his knees with a solemn frown. His eyes, unlike in Will's imagination, did not sparkle with the promise of Sister's life. No, they were dark and somber. "Mrs. Grimm, I suggest we put the girl into her bed," he said in a tone that frightened Jacob and Will. The doctor offered them an inscrutable glance and told Mother, "I would speak with you alone."_

_Will, the boy in the vision and the Man seeing these shadows of the past, shook his head. The doctor was supposed to say, "The fever's broken, Mrs. Grimm" or "She'll recover in due time, Mrs. Grimm." He wasn't supposed to say things to make Mother's eyes so wide and frightened. He wasn't supposed to make her face pale to a deathly gray. She wasn't supposed to meekly nod her head or let the doctor pick up Sister and carry her into the room that the three Grimm children shared---carry her out of reach of Will and Jacob, who dared not protest. Mother was supposed to cling to her boys joyfully and whisper prayers of gratitude. She wasn't supposed to rise to follow the doctor, or pause and order in a subdued tone: "Wait here, boys."_

_The doctor was supposed to make Sister well! He was not supposed to put Sister to bed and mumble things that made Mother cry! Tears rolled down the face of the boy Will and the adult Will._

_Sister was supposed to live!_

Supposed to live if not for Jake's foolish blunder. Bitterness was like bile in Will's mouth, and he squeezed his eyes closed once more against these unwelcome images.

There was no blame, bitterness, or anger in the angelic voice soft in Will's ear: "_You must forgive him, Will. You must look. Time's almost gone_."

Jacob's finger hovered over the symbol on the Messer's hilt that would release its blade. The light from the wand's hilt burned through his shirt now and seared his skin until it drew blood, but Jacob was oblivious to the pain in his body, engulfed as he was in the agony caused by the visions Sister's ghost was showing him in his mind. Jacob did not want to look, but her voice implored him to. The image showed itself in spite of his having shut his eyes to it.

He saw her grave again. It was precisely as he remembered it from her funeral long ago and many visits since her burial. The only thing that had changed was the date of her death…changed to only one week later than Jacob recalled.

Bringing a doctor instead of 'magic beans' should have changed the outcome of this nightmare, but it had not. The doctor could not save her at all. The best of his talents and the whole of his medicines had given her one more week in the grip of her fever before her weakened heart could take no more. One more miserable week.

She hadn't been meant to live. The still-rational corner of Jacob's mind derived the message Sister was trying to give him.

He'd spent so many years mired in guilt over his mistake, so much time sheltered from that guilt by his descent into the world of folklore and mysticism in search of a way to undo his mistake, that it simply never occurred to him that Sister's fever had been incurable. It was not his fault that she died.

With this epiphany came fresh pangs of despair where there should have been release from his guilt…despair at years wasted in that guilt, years of blame from Will, scorn from strangers, whispers of those who'd questioned the boy's precarious grasp on sanity…all for nothing. The blame for her death was never his to shoulder. Jacob wanted to cry for the wasted time, for the fracture that mistake had made in his remaining family, but he had no tears left.

His finger dropped a millimeter closer to the seal on the Messer…the trigger. Not 'wasted', Jacob would never believe his faith in magic and things unseen was 'wasted' time. All the proof he needed was before his eyes at that moment---a radiant apparition of a long-missed face, and it was very real. For all those who had called this quest a 'fool's errand' and the altar a 'fable' and the spirits 'myths and hokum' and the power to raise flesh back to life 'blasphemous', there was the proof, gazing at Jacob with eyes bright with love. He could see Sister, that made her real…didn't it?

Jacob scowled, doubt clouding his thoughts. _Was_ she real or was this a hallucination generated by a mind finally snapped? How could he be sure?

Then he remembered that he wasn't alone there on that plateau. Someone had called his name… "Will?" he heard himself shout over his shoulder, never tearing his eyes from the specter in front of him. "Do you see her?"

An eternity passed before a reluctant answer came, spoken so softly it was nearly inaudible over the wind. "I see her, Jake."

Jacob swallowed hard, finally, _finally_, feeling the faintest hint of relief in his heart. Will saw her. Jacob had not gone mad. If she was there, the powers of the altar were no fable…they were real. If they were real, Jacob had only to drop his thumb onto that symbol and a lifetime of hope would be realized. A press of a button, that was all, and Sister would live again. Jacob could purchase her life…with his own.

One more miserable week.

Will had pinned a lifetime of rage to the conviction that the doctor had only to show his face---a doctor, not 'magic beans'—and Sister would have lived. That she hadn't been meant to live never once, in all the years since, crossed Will's mind. From the instant Jacob had bounded into the house with those damn beans, to the hours after Will had fled from Sister's graveside to hide—alone with his grief---Will had held on to that faith in what would have been 'if only'.

He'd nursed the 'if only' from a nagging in his heart until it had blossomed into anger. Anger had lashed out whenever Mother spoke of Heaven or angels---for Sister, Will had known, wasn't mean to be an angel in Heaven, not at such a young age. 'If only' and its companion anger had turned Will's back in disgust, disdain, and embarrassment at all times when he should have watched out for his baby brother. It had sent him running from Catriona before Mother could grow to the age where she would join Sister and Father in Heaven. It stilled his hand on those rare occasions when he knew he ought to take pen in hand and write to his brother. It widened the rift between Will and Jacob until only the specter of Death itself had been able to compel Will to cross that divide. And for the misery his 'if only' caused, Will never once considered that his 'if only' might have been born from a false assumption.

One week more…that's all Sister would have gained.

Will's long-held 'if only' changed with that sudden insight. It was painful, this realization, and his heart—so long mired in its need to blame---would not yield its anger so easily. He clung to it as if it were a cherished friend and not an albatross drawing him down to dark depths. Still, 'if only' shifted from wishes for a doctor to 'if only' Will would have known that Sister had been destined to pass away that day. How might his life—his family's life---have been different? Perhaps things would not have gone so horribly awry…perhaps they would not be standing here now, before an apparition of the buried past, and Will would not be waiting for his brother to sacrifice himself to that past.

"Save him, Will." Sister's voice was no longer a gentle urging, but rather it rang sharp. The wind that was her touch was no longer a caress---it was a hand laid squarely between his shoulder blades to push him to action, as powerful as a good kick across the seat of his pants. At her command, before he'd fully recovered from his reverie, Will's feet were moving, heedless of the peril of the altar. Her sentiment resounded in Will's own heart. That lunatic was still Will's only family. Will would not watch any of his family die again…even if he had to plunge that blade into his own heart in Jacob's place.

He saw Jacob's thumb poised above the switch that would release the blade and end his life, and Will vaulted over the stream of molten rock and landed on the altar. The stones of the altar lashed at him, spewing a torrent of fire and acrid smoke to burn the interloper who had violated its boundaries. Serya's talisman repelled every lick of flame the altar threw at Will. Emboldened, he broke into a run and closed the distance between himself and Jacob.

"Jake, stop!" Will didn't pause to see if his baby brother obeyed. Catching his brother completely off guard, he snatched the Messer from Jacob's hands and tossed it away. The wand/blade clattered across the stones almost to the edge of the cliff before it stopped. Jacob made a wordless grunt of protest, but Will ignored him. Shoving Jacob, with no gentleness at all, away from the flames of the central columns, Will tore open the canteen and pitched every last drop of the holy water onto the fire…erasing from his mind and soul all doubt of its ability to douse Desdemond's flame.

Believing was one thing---there was still no reason to take a chance. Discarding the empty canteen, Will turned back to Jacob and caught his brother in a flying tackle that knocked both of them off the altar. They tumbled, saved by the talisman from the molten river, away form the altar and down the grassy slope, never to see what happened next.

At the contact with the holy water, the orange glow of fire between each column darkened to the crimson color of blood, as if the water had penetrated the heart of the altar and created a mortal wound. The flame blazing from the central columns shrank back upon itself until nothing remained of it but black smoke. As the torch died, the altar shook and the cracks between each of its basalt columns deepened. One by one each pillar pulled itself free from the other pieces. As each piece broke from the altar, it tumbled down the side of the cliff and plunged into the ocean far below. Individual falling columns of basalt quickly became an avalanche raining down into the water. Having been resting atop these rocks, the Messer des Feuer followed the stones down into the surf, never to be seen again.

As the last of the columns that had formed the cliff, which in turned form the Altar des Feuer, disappeared into the ocean, the sulfuric smoke no longer poured from the earth and the wind carried away the clouds that had blotted out the afternoon sun. The stream of molten rock that had tried to swallow up Torsten now rapidly cooled, and the earth rose up of its own accord and covered the hardened lava. Within seconds, grass sprouted from these mounds of earth and it was as if the lava had never existed.

When the ocean had swallowed up the Messer des Feuer and each piece of the Altar des Feuer, the apparition summoned by its powers smiled to herself and slowly faded back into nothingness. Only a few golden strands of hair remained of her, and they were picked up and carried away on the gentle ocean breeze.

**EPILOGUE**

Wilhelm Grimm sat bolt upright, awakening with a surge of panic from sleep haunted by nightmares that retreated upon his return to consciousness. _Where am I_?

He squinted, for the room was dark, and found himself laying sprawled on a bed of musty-smelling straw and staring up at a very low wooden ceiling. _A hay loft perhaps?_ He'd awakened in enough hay lofts for that to be a plausible location, and he checked to discover that he was alone on that bed of straw. Alone, now that wasn't the usual routine upon waking in hay lofts.

Then his memory came back in a rush and trying to recollect how he'd come to be sleeping in this warm, foul-smelling straw became a secondary concern.

_Will and Jacob had not witnessed the destruction of the altar, tumbling down the slop of the mountain as they were when it destroyed itself. Somehow, as they fell, they had avoided slamming into the boulders that dotted the hillside. They landed in heaps hundreds of feet from the place where the altar had been only a minute earlier._

_As the clouds parted and the warm sun touched them, Will had recovered first and pushed himself off the ground and onto his knees. He whirled to look back in the direction of the altar and saw only a few puffs of lingering dust where the stone dais and torch had been. Of the ghostly form of Sister, there was no sign. Fresh pangs of sorrow and grief momentarily wrung at his heart…but no regret._

_His attention shifted to the figure sprawled nearby. "Jake!"_

_His brother was dazed, but his blackened eyes were half open and his chest rose and fell, indicating life despite the ugly, fresh stain of blood on the front of Jacob's shirt. The memory of that blade poised to pierce his brother's heart would stay in Will's mind for a very long time to come. The fact that Jacob's own hand had held the blade there, seeing the full capacity to sacrifice his own life for the strength of his faith in magic, frightened the life from Will. Even as Will tore open Jacob's shirt to inspect the severity of the wound there, he was silently renewing his pledge to keep a very, very close eye on his brother from that day forth. With everything in his power, Will would do his best to make sure Jacob never carried his beliefs in rot and rubbish to such lengths as his own grave ever again._

_The wound was not serious. The burn was red and ugly, but it was already healing itself. The blood dried over what was no more than a small nick, also starting to close itself up. For the first time in weeks, Will felt his anxiety, fear, and tension begin to ebb out of him. Jacob was alive and there was no long a possibility of his using the altar or its Messer…_

_Where was Jacob?_ Will wasn't quite back to lucidity when he jumped off the bed of straw and stumbled through the dimly lit room of---wherever the hell he was. A single lantern burned and the room felt uncomfortably like the cargo hold where Torsten and his men had imprisoned the brothers. Fleetingly, Will wondered where Torsten and his surviving lackeys were now, but he spared them no more than that passing, idle thought. _Where in God's name was Jake---_?

In the faint light, Will didn't see the second heap of straw…or the figure sleeping there…until he tripped over Jacob and landed with a splat, face down on the floor. Jacob grunted, jolted awake by Will's foot connecting with his shins, and blearily lifted his head to peer at his prone brother. The younger brother grumbled a sleepy oath and his head lolled back onto the straw. Even in the poor light, even in his sleep, Jacob's annoyance was still quite plain.

He'd been sullen since he'd regained consciousness on the island and found Sister, the Messer, and the Altar des Feuer were gone. Most (all) of his ire was focused squarely upon Will.

_Will knew Jacob would be in a rage about his brother spoiling his plans, but Will hadn't anticipated that Jacob's first action upon waking would be to punch Will right in the nose. Jacob couldn't throw a punch worth a damn---or rather he hadn't been able to the last time Will had seen him, years ago---but this blow carried with it the strength of anger and grief and crushing disappointment, and it effectively knocked Will right back onto his ass._

_Will clutched at his nose, which was bloodied but thankfully not broken. "Ow! What the devil was that for?"_

_"Where is she?" Jacob sat up and craned his head, seeking Sister and the Altar. Both were irretrievably gone, he saw, and with them went any hopes of finishing what he'd set out to do a lifetime ago. He all but hung his head in despair. "Why did you do that?" he shouted at Will._

_"Why did---I saved your life, you ungrateful brat!" Will was dumbstruck at the question. He rather had the urge to return Jacob's punch, and might have if his brother's face hadn't already been one big, pitiful bruise. At the least, he might have throttled some sensibility into the boy. He held his temper in check in deference to the fact that he'd almost lost his brother that day. "That's the rub about fraternity—it compels one, against his better judgment, to do foolish things like dig up ancient heathen altars to try to resurrect the dead…or to try to stop your brother from sacrificing his own life for nothing."_

_Jacob wasn't moved, not one bit. "Not for nothing! It was working!" His mouth curled into a frown…and he punched Will in the nose a second time._

_This increased the trickle of blood from Will's nose to a full stream. "Ow! Ow! Bloody hell damn it!" Will cursed at the top of his lungs. "What was _that_ for?"_

_His brother yelled right back, with no sympathy or remorse. "It's my life, it's my choice! Who asked you to interfere?"_

_Well, the answer to that should have been obvious to a scholar. "Who do you think? You're supposed to be the damned poet/scholar in the family---what do you think Sister was trying to tell you with that…whatever that was?" Will shouted, fed up with trying to handle his brother with kid's gloves. "She knew what you were doing before you did. She didn't want you to die and neither do I. Why do you think she's been at me to go to all this trouble in the first place---?"_

_Will hadn't meant to let that much slip. _

_Jacob's mouth shut, anger vanishing from his expression. He blinked quizzically at Will. The significance of what his brother had said had not eluded Jacob. "You saw her, too? Before today?"_

_Will backpeddled, tried to deny it. "Simple bad dreams, of no more consequ---"_

_"And that's why you've been chasing me from Germany to here? Because an angel told you I was in danger?" Jacob's tone went from disbelieving to amused to outright gleeful. Will had the feeling he'd rue that slip of the tongue for years to come. Yes, rational, reasonable Wilhelm Grimm saw an angel. He could hear the whispers now: 'There go the Brothers Grimm…barking mad, the both of them.'_

_"I knew you'd like that," Will muttered._

_Jacob sobered. "I could have saved her…"_

_Will's patience finally ran out. "Try to hear what I'm saying! I. Do. Not. Care!" He rubbed his eyes and counted to ten. "First of all---you are the most stubborn, intractable, maddening, foolish boy to ever walk the earth and it's true that you embarrass me quite spectacularly on occasion, but you're still my brother and I have no intention of letting you die. Pardon my self-preoccupation. Second of all---" Will pulled back his arm and punched Jacob squarely in his good eye. "---stop hitting me, damn it!"_

Jacob was still in a snit over losing the altar, despite saying nothing more about it after Will's tirade. In fact, Jacob had been silent most of the time since they'd left the island. He'd sat at the rail of the ship, brooding, until exhaustion finally got the better of him. Will gave him space and ignored the tiny glares Jacob occasionally spared him. Let Jake hate him if it made him happy…as long as he was safe.

_"Brothers Grimm!"_

_Still pressing handkerchiefs to their bloodied noses, turning reflexively at Gerit Torsten's shout had caused twinges of pain in their faces that made Will and Jacob yelp a bit. Jorn had returned and was agog at the destruction he'd been only just in time to witness. He guided the more composed Torsten, who was still blinded by the slowly-healing burns to his eyes._

_Will grumbled, "If you intend to try to kill us, Torsten, at least wait five minutes until we've had the chance to stop bleeding." He was in no shape for another fight, but would take them on if he must. He considered the odds in a fight to be stacked in Torsten's favor, since Torsten had Jorn on his side and neither Jacob nor Will could muster the strength to haul their own asses up off the grass at the moment._

_"It's gone! They did it!" Jorn stammered excitedly to his leader. "The altar is gone! Fell right into the drink!"_

_That didn't satisfy Torsten. "And the Messer?"_

_"Oh, that," Will shrugged, "Followed the altar into the ocean, I'm afraid. Sorry."_

_Torsten mulled that. Burial at sea was not the way he wished to dispose of the Messer des Feuer. However, the blade's true powers were derived from its connection to the Altar. Without an altar, the blade would be no more menacing than an ordinary dagger. He hoped. Still, when he was recovered from his wounds, Torsten would return to search for the Messer, in case it washed up on the shores of this island, with the help of any man from the Society who wasn't cowed by all that had transpired here…if any could be found. "All right, then," Torsten said simply. He nodded to Jorn and they headed down the hill._

_Will raised an eyebrow, even though Torsten could not see it. "You're not going to try to kill us again? Not that we aren't grateful, mind you."_

_"Killing you was meant to keep the Messer and the Altar des Feuer a secret. Now they're gone, there's no point in killing you. Besides, we had an agreement. Unintentional though it was, young Jacob led me to the Altar, as promised. You helped me destroy the altar, as promised. My end of the bargain was to let you go. I'm quite glad, for once, to be able to keep my word," Torsten answered._

_Will smiled mirthlessly. "Well, splendid. You aren't going to stick a blade in our ribs. Jake's not going to put one in his own chest. And the altar is gone. That just leaves the small matter of being stranded on this island…"_

Jacob had passed out while reading, as usual…or, rather, as Will remembered him doing every night as a child. Most of the time, he had dozed off with his own journal clutched beneath his arm. The journal (praise God) was gone now and Will hoped it was never replaced. Of course, as a child, Jacob had passed out from exhaustion…not from imbibing too generously from a bottle of rum like the one he now clutched in one hand. _When had Jacob started drinking?_ Will could answer his own unvoiced question when he thought of the drawings of Sister's angel that Jacob had made in his childhood. _Probably when specters started haunting his sleep. God knows, another week of ghosts bedeviling my dreams and I'd be drinking myself to sleep, too. _For his part, Will was already well on his way to convincing himself that the events of the past month were a prolonged bad dream and had never happened at all.

Will had just reached to pull off the glasses still perched on Jake's nose---they would never be able to pay to replace them in their current financial state---when a knock on the door caused Will to recoil, embarrassed to be caught at the brotherly action. Jacob, however, only growled a sleepy "G'way!' and resumed his snoring.

Will padded across the tiny room to the door. It was no surprise to find their rescuers sheepishly standing on the other side.

_The group of them, standing on that grassy hillside, had barely begun to ponder the problem of getting off the island (their only transportation was resting with the altar on the floor of the ocean) when unfamiliar voices rang across the plateau._

_"Hullo!"_

_"Ho there, friends!"_

_The cheerful greetings and voices thick with the Scottish brogue belonged to a group of men who were trotting up the slope and gazing around with open curiosity. 'Guess Desdemond's traps were destroyed with the altar,' Will mused. That would make the hike back to the beach considerably more pleasant. Will, Jacob, Torsten, and Jorn turned towards the newcomers._

_They were fishermen, the new arrivals, carrying poles and satchels of gear, although one or two carried woodsmen's axes. There was at least a half-dozen of them. They were bundled up for cold weather in heavy boots and woolen stocking caps, and their faces were tanned and weather-beaten. All but one sported lengthy white beards and one wore glasses quite similar to Jacob's. The tallest among them would only have stood the height of Will's elbow. Several whistled cheerfully. Only one wore a sullen expression._

_"Hullo!" the one with the glasses greeted them. "That your ship scuttled out there in the bay?" He directed the question at Will, but spared concerned glances at Torsten's burned face and Jacob's bruises and bloodied shirt. "From the looks of you, I'd say you survived by the skin of your teeth, eh?"_

_The remark was an attempt at friendly levity. The fisherman could not know how accurately he'd guessed. "You have no idea," Will told him._

_The sullen-looking one sniffed, "Been looking all over this island…we though someone might be marooned after a shipwreck like that…didn't know there was anything up here, though. We'd have never looked here if it weren't for that landslide." He frowned at the group. "You lot must have an angel watching out for you, surviving that wreck and then the landslide. Don't know if you're very lucky or very unlucky."_

_The short fisherman with the glasses elbowed the sullen one. "Pay him no mind. He's grumpy."_

_Jacob was the first to ask: "You have a boat that could carry all of us?"_

_Torsten interjected, "We've ten more survivors down at the beach."_

_An inexplicably happy fisherman beamed, "We do, and we'd be glad to take you back to the mainland---but you'll have to wait with us until the tide comes it tonight."_

_Will laughed at that. "We're not going anywhere before then, believe me." It was going to take the remainder of the afternoon for the four of them to limp down the mountain, he estimated._

_The fisherman with the glasses agreed, "I'd say not." He turned to Jacob and Torsten. "You've got injuries. Done a fair bit of doctoring in my day---I could have a look at those cuts and bruises," he offered. At Jacob's weary nod, the man set down his fishing gear and rummaged through his satchel. "I know I have something in here that can help those burns, too. Won't smell too good, but it works like a miracle…ah, here we are!" With a flourish, he produced a jar of salve and strips of cloth and set to work treating the various bumps and bruises. "There now, that's a wicked cut!" he tsked at Jacob's wound. "How'd all this happen?"_

_"Long story," Will and Jacob answered in unison._

The knocking persisted as Will crossed the room to open the door. As he reached for the door handle, he heard Jacob mutter and the rustling of straw as his brother climbed to his feet. Jacob grunted a bit as the wound on his chest and his aching nose twinged at the movement. He followed Will to the door, walking a bit unsteadily from too much drink and too little sleep.

As he'd expected, when Will opened the door he found the sheepish faces of their rescuers on the other side. Will counted seven of them gathered outside their room on the ship, which the fishermen had let the brothers occupy for the duration of the trip back to the mainland. Will didn't know these seven---the doctor fisherman and the sullen fisherman weren't among them---but they also had white beards and were no taller than the ones who'd rescued the brothers and Torsten's men from the island.

The spokesman of the group blushed bright red and doffed his woolen cap respectfully when Will opened the door. "Y-you are the Brothers Grimm, y-yes?" he stammered shyly.

"Most of the time, yes," Will said.

Impossibly, the bashful fisherman blushed an even deeper crimson as Will waited for him to spit out whatever business had prompted them to pound on the door in the middle of the night. "P-pardon our interruption, good sir, b-but there's a matter we urgently need to discuss with you…b-both of you," the shy man continued.

_Yes, I gathered as much, please be quick about it,_ Will silently begged.

Mustering his courage, the bashful man continued, "Your friend, Mr. Jorn, told us a most intriguing story about the two of you," he nodded a greeting as Jacob shuffled over to the door to join the group.

Will felt a pang of alarm. "If this is about the wooden maiden incident, we can explain. We'd never do that on you sh--"

The shy fisherman shook his head, "No, no—well, since you mention it, did you really defeat that colossal wooden figurehead that came alive?"

Will and Jacob exchanged slightly guilty looks. "Defeated? In a manner of speaking, I suppose…" Will answered.

Another fisherman, who appeared to be half-asleep himself, asked (around his yawning), "And did you really use magic to make a tree pull you out of a cave just before it would have collapsed and crushed you?"

Jacob raised an eyebrow at Will. Since his brother had been sulking for most of the voyage to the mainland, Will hadn't had the chance to fill him in on the details of every bit of the past few weeks. Will wondered where this line of questioning was heading. "Uh…in a manner of speaking," he repeated.

"You didn't mention that," Jacob said.

"Well, you weren't speaking to me! I'll explain later," Will snapped.

The bashful fisherman was losing some of his shyness. His eyes were becoming quite bright with interest. "And you rescued a blind man from a lava flow?"

"And battled a ghost?" the sleepy one asked.

The brothers shook their heads. " 'Battled' may not be the appropriate word," Will corrected.

"And destroyed that heathen altar in the Hebrides with a flask of holy water?" a third fisherman asked.

"It was more of a canteen…"

The sleepy one yawned, "And unearthed the burial place of that magic knife-wand?"

Unable to stop the barrage of questions, Will finally tried waving his hands to gain their attention. He was beginning to get a rather large headache. Jacob finally spoke up, "You're, perhaps, making all that sound far grander than it was."

Will seconded that remark. "Yes, grander indeed. Thanks for stopping by---" He tried to close the door, but the shy fisherman suddenly became assertive and stuck out his foot to prop the door open.

"Wait, Mr. Grimm, sir! We wished to beg the service of you and your brother in a small matter of our own---" the bashful one pleaded.

"Not such a 'small' matter," the sleepy one disagreed.

"---something well-suited to your…unusual…expertise. It concerns a young friend of ours, a very lovely young maiden," the shy one explained.

Interested now, Will swung the door open again, "Go on."

"Kind girl, virtuous," the shy one continued.

His interest gone now, Will tried to close the door again. Jacob stopped him and gave his brother a glare. "Behave."

The bashful one paid the exchange no mind. "I'm afraid our lady friend has gotten onto the bad side of a less…er…oh my, how should I put this? A less kindly and much older woman…she's…"

"She's a witch," the sleepy one summed it up.

Will raised an eyebrow. "A what?"

The shy one was scandalized by the word and opened his mouth to rephrase what the sleepy one had said. The sleepy one persisted, "She's a witch, I tell you! I even saw a boiling cauldron in her cottage in the woods! Fed our friend a poisoned apple and almost killed the poor child! And the old crone won't be happy until she _does_ kill the girl."

The shy one worried that they would scare the brothers, who were now staring at the group, at a loss for words. "You can see we lack your talents for confronting a woman schooled in such dark arts. We thought, perhaps, you might help us..er…"

"Send that warty old witch on her way?" the sleepy one said bluntly.

"We're happy to pay you, of course," the bashful one promised, "a very generous sum."

It was Jacob who moved to close the door this time. These fishermen were friendly enough, but they clearly believed Jacob and Will to be something they weren't. As much as he had sympathy for their lady friend's plight, even with Jacob's knowledge of things magical, the brothers wouldn't begin to know how to help. "We would be glad to assist a damsel in distress, but it sounds as if what you need is a priest. I'm afraid we're not…"

Will inserted himself between Jacob and the seven fisherman once more, grinning ear-to-ear as visions of gold coins danced in his head. "How generous?"

**THE END**


End file.
